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by CelestePhantasm



Category: Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Animal Transformation, Cloud Strife Needs a Hug, Dark Feelings, Dark Thoughts, Depression, Description of wounds, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Existential Crisis, F/M, Including more “screen time”, Leslie Kyle is a Good Egg, Self-Hatred, Swearing, Tags to be added as necessary, WIP, he deserves better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24734071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestePhantasm/pseuds/CelestePhantasm
Summary: (Name) lost her humanity when she was young—she’s cold and matter-of-fact, and not quite easy to connect to.She’s not quitehuman.She’s somethingdifferent,but Aerith trusts her—and Cloud isn’t keen on getting Aerith in trouble, so when (Name) tags along, he deals with it.But then, of course, nothing ever goes to plan, and Cloud should be well-aquatinted with chaos by now, but...Who could get used toall of this!?(Loosely follows the remake, with the reader inserted starting at the tail end of Chapter 8.)
Relationships: (At least until later chapters), (But there’s some mutual trust and admiration), (So squinting might be necessary), (Sorta; Leslie is the primary), Cloud Strife/Reader, Leslie Kyle/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _DISCLAIMER:_** I do **NOT** own _Final Fantasy VII Remake,_ or **ANY** of its spinoffs, sequels, prequels, characters, contents, or its original material or story. I make no profit off this. I'm just writing for fun.
> 
> So, what you need to know to start:
> 
> I have barely passed Kalm in the original game, as of writing this. (Despite playing the remake first, I literally do not care about the storyline. It has never hooked me. I gave an entire rant about how I felt about the storyline on my tumblr, in [this post.](https://promptmestories.tumblr.com/post/616704501470150656/an-honest-review-of-the-final-fantasy-vii-remake) Beware: my opinions are probably intensely controversial, to the point that it may turn you away from the story. [The TL;DR of that post is that the story did not hook me, I never started to like most of the characters, and least of all Barret and Aerith. I understand that this is a sin to most fans. I expect people to hate me for that. My explanations/reasons are in the post, but my opinions are likely to be less than popular by any stretch of the imagination.] Therefore, if I cannot find enough interest, later parts of the story are going to be flying by the seat of my pants—or very slow to be written.
> 
> I expected Cloud to be my boy by the end of the game, and he’s definitely my favorite of the mains. (Again, the post details a lot of this.) But Leslie sort of took a huge hold of my heart because he’s a squishy boy who deserves a better girl than Merle. (It’s clearly very important, because he never mentions her by name, and the subtitles literally call her “Leslie’s Fiancée.” I had to look up information on this, and supposedly Leslie finds her and they have a kid and I...don’t believe it. Why didn’t they run away, if she was that reluctant? Leslie is implied to have worked for the don before [he’s wearing the same outfit in the flashback], so no one would try THAT hard to stop him if they ran away, seeing as he probably has some intimidation factor. Why did she disappear? Why did Corneo take her? Surely Leslie was already in a position of power, so why wouldn’t Leslie say, “Hey, boss, uh—just once, maybe not this one? Just the one.” Corneo does whatever he wants, sure, but if Leslie was his second, surely he’d want to keep his best guy around. Did Leslie not care enough to stand up for her? I have so many questions.) So I sort of scooted things around—you’ll see when that part of the story comes around.
> 
> Third, the only thing I’ve played off FFVII is actually the remake, so my knowledge is tiny snippets from random reading (like fics), the remake (I got the platinum trophy, so I’m well-versed there), what little can be learned from the KH series, and some very vague memories of Advent Children—so in this case, a lot of this AU is because I’m not an expert.
> 
> Less significantly, the scenes with Leslie in the sewers, when his eyes are hidden under the hat and darker—the pupils are so large, he reminded me of a cat, and I got this idea in my head, because there’s clearly things other than humans in that world, and...well, you’ll see.
> 
> Anyway, seeing as most of the fandom seems to have a particular taste for fitting Cloud with almost any other character in the roster, I think this’ll go under the radar, but I hope you guys like it!
> 
> Enjoy!

When Aerith and Cloud headed toward her home, only a handful of steps from the Leaf House, they were greeted with a strange woman. She was plainly dressed—in soft shorts that reached just past her knees, and her top was fitted to her figure, and short sleeved—both items pitch black in color. She watched them with strange, golden eyes, tilting her head. “You have a...guest, Aerith,” she said, her tone cautious.

For the first time, Cloud saw Aerith take a long pause before she responded. “Is everything alright?”

The woman straightened slightly, and lifted her chin. “He stinks of fuel—and cologne. I thought he might be trouble.” She paused, her head tilting again. “Would you like me to take care of it?”

Aerith shook her head. “I’m fine, (Name). I’ve got a bodyguard today. His name is Cloud.”

Those strange, yellow eyes stared at them for a long moment, and Cloud, privately, thought that she looked very cat-like. “Very well. You know where I live.” She shifted her weight in a slinky movement and nodded her head, and then stepped around the two of them, with not another word.

“Friend of yours?” Cloud’s voice was typically flat, but there might have been a drop of skepticism in it.

“She’s...yeah,” Aerith said. “She’s not _not_ a friend,” she added, her voice leveling in the second statement. “She doesn’t like strangers. She looks out for intruders, protects the town.”

Cloud thought that didn’t remotely qualify a person as a “friend,” but from what he could tell, Aerith would probably befriend a monster if she could get to it before it attacked. But like most things, it also didn’t sound like his business, and it didn’t hold his interest. “Right,” he said, after a short pause.

Aerith eyed him, and then gave a sly smile. “She’s special. I like her.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway, shall we see who’s waiting for us?”

What followed was an encounter with another Turk—this one named Rude—who was astoundingly strong. Strong enough, in fact, to pick up Cloud ( _and_ his enormous sword) and twirl him around and _throw_ him, often right in to poor Aerith.

Cloud, though bruised, had dinner (a tense one, in his opinion, but of course Aerith just carried on as normal), and then he had to pretend to go to bed, so he could sneak out.

Of course, in turn, Aerith seemed to have known her mother would be up to something—she loaded the landing where the bedrooms were with trash so that Cloud had to step around everything.

So he tip-toed around the rubbish, found Aerith’s mother waiting (clearly to make sure he actually followed through), and made his way out and back toward the town itself.

There, he found the strange woman again, and her odd, golden eyes seemed to shine in the dark. “She’ll follow you, you know,” she said, quietly. “Look after her. You’re headed back out of town?”

Cloud realized he might have underestimated her affection for Aerith, and he shifted his weight, taking the time to take a better read of her, this time—after all, she was taking the time to seek him out, now. “Sector 7,” he replied. “You trying to take care of her?”

This time, the woman took a long pause and looked him over, dropping her eyes to the end of his sword, then back to the handle over his shoulder, and then back to his eyes. “Aerith is...precious to the people here,” she added. “I don’t trust people, much less ones who stink like Shinra’s meddling, and I see the Mako in your eyes.”

Cloud folded his arms, not quite sure why he was mildly offended by her tone, but he felt it prickle him. “I left SOLDIER. I get in Shinra’s way whenever I can,” he said, to start, because of _course_ it bothered him, having her accuse him of supporting Shinra. “And if you don’t want her around me, why don’t you tell her so?”

This time, the woman smirked. “I may not love her the way the rest of the town does, but Aerith’s predictable—she doesn’t obey _anyone._ That’s why she’ll follow you.” She shifted her weight, and Cloud suddenly saw green in her eyes— _Mako_ green. “She does as she likes. She respects me, but she’s intensely independent. She’d take the time to actively pursue you if I told her I thought you were bad news.”

Cloud couldn’t disagree with that, but now he stepped closer to her, dipping his head. “You have Mako in your eyes,” he said, instead of replying.

“Let’s leave it at me being a particularly...lucky person,” she said, without taking those strange eyes off him. He could now see that the inner ring circling her pupil was perfectly Mako-green, but the streaks running out through her iris were fine—she had far more Mako in her than he did, but her eyes were so strange, it hid the color. “I went through an ordeal when I was younger. It’s no one’s business, but I was drowned in Mako during that time. I came out the other side, but I’m not quite...personable.” She straightened, only a little. “You can take that or leave it.”

Cloud thought he might have figured out what it felt like for anyone else who tried to talk to _him,_ suddenly, but he respected that she hadn’t just shut him down instantly—she’d offered the minimum information he wanted. “Right,” he said.

If nothing else, Cloud knew when to stop any pursuit he had. “Any other reason you’re here?”

He also knew how to read people, more often than not.

She smiled, and yet the expression wasn’t quite soft—it reminded him of a beast about to pounce, but he shook off the image when she held up a richly purple Materia. “For her.”

Cloud offered his hand, and the woman tossed it lightly—he didn’t even have to move for it to land in his palm. “Anything else?”

“No. She’ll know,” she said, simply, and she turned away. “Might want to move on. She’ll come this way shortly.”

Cloud wasn’t particularly keen on the way she talked to him—as though everything was a foregone conclusion and she just _knew._ He respected her honesty, though—at least she didn’t mince words.

So he dropped the Materia in his pocket, and debated for only a moment as to if he should try to avoid Aerith—but in this, the woman was spot on. Aerith would do what she wanted, when she wanted to do it, and _how_ she wanted.

So he took only a half a moment to double-check his equipment, before he headed for the exit to the town.

Aerith _was_ waiting for him.

He didn’t quite know what to do with how forward she was, or how she seemed to like him, either.

Before he could follow her jaunty little self down the road, he felt pain sear his head, but as quickly as it came, it was gone.

He wasn’t sure what caused it, but before Aerith could try to read his face, he turned away.

They spoke for a little while, walking, but when they stopped, looking at Wall Market, Cloud remembered.

He pulled the Materia from his pocket, offering it.

Aerith looked at him, then at the Materia, and then back to his eyes. She grinned. “(Name) gave this to you?”

“To you,” he corrected.

“But she gave it to you to give to me,” she said, smiling entirely too much, but she still took the Materia, and slotted it in after some careful consideration. “She say anything?”

“She told me you’d probably follow me,” he admitted.

But instead of being indignant or upset, Aerith grinned. “She’s pretty observant,” Aerith acquiesced.

“Seemed like it,” he said.

Aerith laughed at the bland tone he offered her, but still led him through the long tunnel in which they had to use robotic arms to get through.

There was also the astoundingly idiotic set of thugs that thought they were hot shit.

All the same, it led them to Evergreen Park, where Aerith led him to the top of some playground equipment.

Then there was that _pain_ again, but this time, Aerith didn’t notice, thankfully.

But then she climbed down and headed toward another structure in the park, and Cloud took his time, glancing around the space.

There was a tiny gap in one of the walls, and he collected a treasure a short distance in, but when he came out, he spotted a large, black cat perched on top of the thing Aerith was by, and she was _talking to it._

Maybe he hadn’t been wrong, about Aerith making friends with beasts, if they didn’t attack her first.

Only...it didn’t look particularly...aggressive. Not that it didn’t look dangerous, but it was sitting on its haunches, the tip of its tail twitching, looking more domesticated than any wild animal should.

Really, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a cat so big—the ones in Sector 7 were average cats, but this one was…

_It was a panther._

A living, breathing, _real_ panther, and it was staring Aerith down.

Cloud didn’t even think before he drew the blade off his back and held it at the ready. “Back up, Aerith.”

“Oh, she’s alright,” Aerith said, fanning her hand in front of her face. “She’s a friend.”

The cat had turned its head on him, now, and it looked…

Amused.

_And familiar._

Those eyes.

The Mako was far more visible now—the ring around her pupil was brighter, and it also circled the edge of her iris, now, too. The streaks of Mako had thickened and her muzzle crinkled and drew back as she almost seemed to _laugh_ at him. “You’re…(Name).”

It might have been a question, from someone else, but it came out almost flat, from Cloud.

“She told me she wanted to make sure you protected me,” Aerith said, simply.

Cloud was too astonished by the fact that a human woman was now peering at him through a feline face to process that Aerith had also just implied that (Name) was capable of speech. “He stinks of Mako. I’d bet he’s got Mako poisoning,” (Name)’s voice replied, coming out of the muzzle of the cat, and Cloud was so surprised that he didn’t even remember to close his mouth. “But you seem relatively unharmed. I suppose he’s not quite so ill as he smells.” 

Aerith had the capacity to _pout_ at the cat sitting on the playground equipment, putting her fists on her hips. “I _am_ capable of protecting myself, you know,” she started, leaning in toward the cat, “and I can tell he’s not some kind of serial killer, or something, either.”

The cat’s tail began to swish in earnest, now. “I don’t trust anyone,” (Name) said, so swiftly that Cloud thought she might have predicted Aerith’s reply. “Especially when they have the stink of Shinra about them. I’ve survived by distrust, and I’ll stand by that.” Her hackles raised, and she sneered at the flower girl, “I would have disposed of that Shinra suit if you had asked.”

“That’s why I didn’t,” Aerith said, primly, scowling. “Rude’s not a bad guy.”

“People are what they do, not just what they say. He does the dirty work for a greedy, soul-sucking company. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t agree with you.”

Aerith pouted, but Cloud, having regained his senses enough to understand that these two actually _weren’t_ close, but (Name) was looking after Aerith, decided to step in. “So, how do I get back to Sector 7?”

Better to interrupt than to stand around and listen to them bickering, he thought.

The panther hopped down off her perch and slunk under the equipment, and Cloud heard a groan, and then something sliding. “Here,” (Name)’s voice said, and Cloud got down to one knee.

She was there, and _human_ again.

Cloud refused to be baffled, this time. “Just follow the tunnel. You’ll find a ladder that leads up.”

She climbed out, and Cloud realized why her movements had seemed so...strange—it was very _cat-like._

He had no idea why she could look and act like a cat, but she’d already told him—it wasn’t his business.

He fully agreed with that sentiment.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Aerith was smiling at him again, in that strange way that he didn’t know what to do with, and he averted his eyes, despite the fact that (Name) had sauntered toward the enormous gate to his home sector.

He hesitated, and then finally blurted out a question he knew he didn’t _have_ to ask, considering (Name), “You gonna be okay getting home?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at (Name). “I’ve got a safer way back,” she added.

Cloud nodded, and he glanced at (Name), too, but then he ducked down—

Until the ground around them began to rumble, and Cloud saw the gate split, grinding open as though it was too heavy for its own machinery.

Through it came a chocobo, leading a cart, and…

_In the back._

“Tifa?”

He didn’t even think—he dashed toward the cart, and _holy hell, what was she wearing?_ It was purple, fitted to her _too well,_ and he could see the shape of her so well that he found himself staring at her hairline, especially when she crawled toward him on her knees, shushing him.

Despite her assurances, Cloud felt his stomach turning.

Hadn’t he made her a promise?

And Cloud might not have been the type to harass a woman, no matter any circumstances, but her _regular_ clothes were more than enough to earn her cat calls and too much attention, but this...this was enough to make the worst of them come to the forefront, if they mistook her for some helpless little woman.

Ordinarily, she’d just take them down with a single hit and that would be the end of it, but…

But it made him sick, thinking she might have to put up with it, anyway.

He might have obeyed her in any other circumstances, but his feet were already leading him after the cart, too slowly, but he knew he was going to go after her.

And then Aerith was encouraging him, and they were off, and Cloud felt his heart beating too fast, because he had a promise to keep, and he wasn’t absolutely certain that _he_ wouldn’t be the one to take down any idiot dumb enough to accost her, even if she had every right to defend her own choices and independence in the first place.

Cloud had never been opposed to putting bastards in their place when it came to this kind of crap, after all.

Just when he was ready to draw his sword on the owner of the chocobo service, he heard (Name)’s voice.

He’d completely forgotten about her.

“She’s about yea high, waist-length, dark hair, eyes about the shade of a full jar of honey—reddish-brown, I’d say. Dressed in purple. Not the kind of girl any straight man would overlook,” she added.

Sam turned and looked at her head-on, having apparently overlooked her, too. “Tifa, you mean?” Aerith barely had to nod before Sam explained that Tifa was a “real pretty girl,” and she was going to see Don Corneo.

That led them to a gaudy, ostentatious mansion, and before they went in, (Name) glanced at Aerith, and then Cloud. “Don’t pull your sword on anyone. Make that your last resort. I smell gunpowder.”

Cloud resented that she thought he had such little restraint, but he wondered if maybe it was more out of concern for Aerith. “I don’t kill people without reason,” he replied flatly.

“But you threaten pretty fast,” she countered.

...Okay, fine, maybe she was right.

So when they went inside, Cloud was met with another golden-eyed person and, for just a moment, Cloud thought about asking if he was _also_ secretly a cat.

But he was quick to tell them off, “Not so fast, buddy,” he said, mildly authoritative, but also verging on boredom.

Cloud had another flash of wondering if this was how he sounded to everyone else.

“Back it up. Got no need for pretty boys here.”

Cloud saw (Name)’s weight shift out of the corner of his eye, a slinky, fluid movement that drew the eye of the two lackeys. “What, you’re the maximum quota?”

Leslie’s mask slipped for barely a second, before his eyes slid to her. “I’m not a distraction,” he argued, with a more obvious pause. His eyes seemed to linger on her, before he looked back at Cloud. “No one goes in without my permission.”

Cloud huffed, feeling the urge to reach for his sword, but he recalled (Name) calling him out on being too fast to threaten. “We’re looking for someone,” he pressed.

“Lemme guess,” Leslie said, his tone leisurely and yet exasperated. “First time in Wall Market.”

Cloud resisted the urge to clench his fist. “Yeah, so?”

Leslie, somehow, did not roll his eyes. “So people can’t just walk through the don’s front door.” He paused, looking at Cloud as he spoke just a bit more firmly, “Especially men.”

Aerith didn’t even _pause_ before she leaned forward, “How ‘bout me, then? Can I go inside?”

Cloud’s eyes darted to her, just a little too wide, and Leslie’s mask slipped again, for only a second. “Maybe, but you’re gonna wish you didn’t.”

Cloud wondered what this guy was on about—he obviously had some kind of influence here, from the body language of the two men slightly behind him. He was a gatekeeper, clearly—they had to pass this man to go through, but there was something...else. Cloud could tell he had power here—the two men behind him were there for show, likely, or just as muscle, if necessary. But they were relaxed, not bothered in the slightest. They deferred to Leslie, and trusted him to deal with this issue.

But Leslie was also telling them that there was something _bad_ through those gates.

But before Cloud could follow that train of thought, the lackey on the left, with ugly studs across the top of his shoulders on his tank top, leaned toward Aerith, leering, “Y’know, Leslie, she’s kinda cute. Homely, but cute,” he said.

“Excuse you?” Aerith sounded appropriately offended.

Leslie didn’t flinch, “‘Kinda cute’ is not gonna cut it.”

“What about me?” That was (Name)’s voice, and she had shifted her weight again, and Cloud, despite his distrust and suspicions about her, _knew_ the answer to that.

 _“She’s_ hot, Les,” the other lackey said, looking entirely too interested. “The don would like her attitude—”

“You wouldn’t,” (Name) said, turning on the man, her eyes narrowed. “Back down.”

The man—wearing a leather vest and a bandanna—looked appropriately stricken, but (Name) had already turned back to Leslie.

She was watching him keenly, and she tilted her head. “You let me in, and I won’t ask about those eyes of yours, handsome.”

This time, the mask didn’t slip—it hardened, and his eyes narrowed.

They didn’t speak, but Leslie looked a great deal more tense as the moments passed, until he relented, diverting his gaze back to Cloud. “If you’re really sure you want to join an audition, you’ll need official approval.”

Cloud had _no idea_ what had just happened, but (Name) clearly thought Leslie was hiding something—likely something very like _her_ secret, if she was calling out his eyes. Aerith wasn’t nearly as interested, however, and she made the call to press on, “And who can give us that?”

Leslie glanced, only once, at (Name), before he turned forward again. “The Trio—the only ones in town who’re considered authorities on Corneo’s particular tastes.” Here, he paused, before he held up a finger, “First, there’s Chocobo Sam. And then there’s Madam M, over at the massage parlor. Last but not least, there’s the Honeybee Inn’s Andrea Rhodea.” Another pause, and barely a flash of his eyes at (Name). “They’re an eccentric bunch, to put it mildly, and you should know they don’t recommend just any girl stupid enough to come knocking.”

Now Cloud began to wonder even more what had just transpired, but Aerith was the most talkative of the three, “Hmm, duly noted. Thanks for the info. We’ll be back soon.”

Cloud led them out of the mansion and stopped halfway across the bridge. “You sure about this?”

He wasn’t sure who he was addressing—maybe even _himself._ “Aerith can hang back,” (Name) said, quietly. “I have no qualms with killing people, especially ones as foul as Corneo. Get me in, and I’ll bring out your friend,” she said, and she had such conviction in her tone that Cloud wondered if she had somehow, in complete silence, struck a deal with Leslie. “Come. Let’s go see which one of them is easiest to manipulate.”

Cloud had a brief flash of pain in his head—her behavior was so... _cold._ It made him think of the—

“Cloud,” Aerith said, catching his hand, and it pulled him back to reality, where (Name) was walking ahead. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, because he _was,_ at least now. That was good enough. “Let’s go.”

Chocobo Sam was about as helpful as before—which was to say, he _wasn’t._

Andrea Rhodea was even less, because they couldn’t see the man.

That left Madam M, which…

She was a shrill, sassy, whiny sort—manipulative, greedy, and overall _annoying._

Cloud had to deal with her in private, which concerned Aerith a great deal, but (Name) brushed it off and made their demand—she wanted an audition with Don Corneo.

“Well, you’re pretty enough,” the woman said, “but you could at least do something with yourself.”

“I can get what I want without that sort of effort,” she said, sounding very bored. “But if that’s what I have to do, I’ll do it.”

The madam looked surprised, and almost impressed—likely seeing a part of herself in the terseness (Name) offered, and in the willingness to do as was necessary. “Well. You’ll need quite a dress—Corneo _loves_ a show—and we could do something with your hair—and those eyes, we can accent that.” She paused, fanning herself for a moment, “Of course, that’ll cost a lot—more than you people can afford,” she added, and she looked entirely too smug about the idea.

(Name) didn’t mind the thought of putting this woman in her place once she got what she needed—after all, she was one of three people that willingly sent women right in to the lion’s den—or bedroom, by the looks of things. “What do you want?”

“There’s a tournament in the underground coliseum here. The prize money—which goes to the person who sends in the victor—would cover it. So, Cloud—how about it?”

(Name) didn’t bother to correct her—she clearly thought Cloud would do the heavy lifting, and maybe it’d seem so, but Aerith and (Name) were not pushovers. “I’m in,” Cloud agreed, because that was something he could _definitely_ do. All this talking and sneaking around—that wasn’t him.

Cloud was tactical when he needed to be, but he didn’t like this running around just doing bullshit when the simplest solution was definitely to take off Corneo’s head—and maybe figure out what was up with Leslie, too, to know if _he_ also needed a haircut.

So they headed out the door, and Cloud headed off, until he heard (Name) speaking quietly.

There was a cat at her feet, peering at her primly, and she knelt before it. “Cloud, Aerith,” she called. “Come with me.”

The cat—which was silver, with marbled swirls of gray through its fur—jumped to her shoulder, digging its claws through her shirt.

She didn’t even pause—she just got to her feet and headed for the edge of town, jogging until they rounded a corner and ducked in to a building next to a pool of murky water, and she knelt once more.

The cat dismounted her shoulder, and—

“You, too?”

“That’s none of your business,” Leslie said, and there was something still _feline_ about him in that moment.

“It’s not genetic,” (Name) said, quietly. “It’s not a story for this moment—for me, I’d rather never tell it.” She glanced over her shoulder at Cloud, her shoulders stiff. “I didn’t know it until he snarled at me.”

“He didn’t—”

“Adult cats can communicate silently—at least, in a way humans can’t hear. Part of the...shape-shifting thing.” She had turned back to Leslie, now. “Madam M is going to get me in.”

Leslie scowled at her, “You shouldn’t.”

“I won’t ask, but I’m not whoever you’re worried about,” she said, and Leslie just _barely_ flinched. “You don’t have any Mako in your eyes,” she said, quietly. “Not even as an animal.”

“But you do,” he said, and she lifted her chin at him. “You survived?”

(Name) pulled her upper lip back, and something like a growl came up her throat—such a decidedly inhuman sound that Aerith squeaked. “No.”

There was another of those strange, hollow silences—they could hear the water running outside.

“Sorry,” Leslie muttered, and he looked it. “I didn’t—”

“You wouldn’t,” she snapped, and Leslie bowed his head. “She called, and I had to obey. I lost my humanity in the river.” She shifted her weight and there was that panther again, and Leslie stared at her. “This is what’s left. You’re lucky, kitten.”

Leslie didn’t speak—he shifted, looking torn, and then he knelt, reaching out his hand. He held it a respectful distance, but (Name) decided he actually seemed _genuine,_ so she moved just enough to nudge his hand with her head.

He gave her one gentle stroke—it almost seemed reverent, and he curled his fingers behind her ear, rubbing there softly, and the panther leaned right in to it. Leslie knew the benefits of a good ear-scratch, himself—and he was grateful that she’d trusted him enough for this, even though she was decidedly more deadly than him, right then.

He let her go, and her ear twitched a little, and he knew—she forgave him. So he took a deep breath, and then he shrank.

Their size difference was massive—Leslie was the size of a normal, adult cat. He was a handsome one—the sort anyone would reach out to pet, which was probably useful for spying, in a place like Wall Market.

But (Name) dwarfed him—though she was shorter than him as a human, she was four times his size as a cat. Her fur was silky and shimmered when she shifted toward him—she pressed her nose to the fur at his neck, and his fur ruffled as she breathed. She withdrew after a moment, watching him. “I’ll keep your secret, kitten—but your boss might not live through this.”

The cat tipped his head at the panther, and (Name) sniffed the air, and then sat back on her haunches—and then she was human again, in warping of muscle and bone, and getting to her feet. “Would you prefer to walk back on your own, considering, or would you like a ride?”

Leslie blinked at her for a moment, thinking, and then he approached her, and (Name) scooped him up. He stretched out of her grip, up to (Name)’s shoulder, his claws digging at her shirt again, but something had changed—he was more at ease on the way back, and he moved _with_ her, apparently able to read her movements as she walked, smoothly dodging drunken revellers and wayward hands long before they reached for her, and Leslie jumped down at a spot where he wouldn’t get his tail broken. He glanced back at (Name), and then slinked through a little gap and disappeared.

“Can we trust him?”

“Better than you think,” (Name) murmured. “It’s not my place to tell you what he told me,” she added, “but I’ll trust him to do what’s right.”

Cloud guessed that was all he was going to get out of her, and they headed for the coliseum.

They entered together, though Cloud had yet to see (Name) use a weapon—maybe she fought as a panther?

But when they walked in for the first match, getting booed and, for the women, objectified, (Name) had two light swords in her grip—she had the dull side pressed against the outside of her arms, and each blade had three Materia slotted in its handle. The blades were longer than the lower half of her arm, but she held them as though they were familiar friends she’d used most of her life.

The two men making the announcements and riling the crowd paid little heed to them, other than some jeering comments, clearly underestimating them.

“I smell animals,” (Name) murmured under her breath. “Hang back. Animals are...a specialty.”

Cloud didn’t doubt that—after all, she claimed she’d lost her humanity.

So when one man and two vicious-looking dogs stepped out, Cloud wasn’t surprised—he suspected her animal senses carried in to her human body, even if she didn’t act on it directly.

The dogs were already snarling, focused on her, and she grinned at them. “Personally, I’d resent your master, more,” she murmured.

Cloud wondered if she was joking about them hanging back—talking wasn’t going to win the round, but then she was moving, so fast he didn’t see the first hit.

She dragged her blade up the outside of the beastmaster’s arm, and to his credit, he did little more than hiss.

“Get her!”

When she defended, one of the dogs sliced its paw on one of her swords, and she retaliated with a vicious, upward slice that threw the animal halfway across the arena, and she turned in to the next hit, gutting the animal, and turned on the beastmaster. “You’re a poor master,” she told him, twisting the right blade to hold it out, the other still lining her left arm. “I’ve seen more vicious house cats.”

Of course, that just prompted him to call for his living dog, but (Name) dispatched the half-dead animal, and then went after the master.

Cloud put his sword away as soon as she moved—she cut through him with less effort than the dogs, and whirled her blades to sling off the blood. “If this is the sort of challenge they intend to provide, I doubt either of you need to worry about it.”

Aerith looked vaguely upset—probably because she didn’t necessarily condone such brutality—but Cloud was starting to realize that (Name) was not to be underestimated. She was as cutthroat in battle as she was in her speech—if even more so.

As they stepped back inside, Cloud saw the VIP box—Leslie’s hat was barely visible at the back, but he could see Sam, Madam M, and who he could only assume was Andrea Rhodea at the front.

(Name) cleaned her swords and sheathed them along her thighs—so _that_ was where she held her weaponry—and glanced at Aerith. “Are you alright?”

“He tortured them, didn’t he?”

“I wasn’t going to say so in front of you,” she said, much more softly than Cloud expected. “I attempted a clean death for them.”

“Thanks,” Aerith breathed.

Cloud was...surprised.

Maybe she had a handful of soft spots.

Tiny ones.

The second round, Cloud managed most of the crowd with some wide swings, Aerith cast a Fira spell, and (Name) moved with her typical fluidity, dashing through the opponents, whirling and dipping—she almost never took a hit.

But Cloud did the most of the work, this time around—until Aerith used Magnify on another Fira spell, and the last three men hit the ground to leave Aerith grinning very smugly.

(Name) paused when they approached the doors for the final fight, lifting her head a little. “I smell oil,” she whispered. “Might need some Lightning Materia, Aerith. Maybe Fire, but...gut instinct, take Lightning.”

Aerith glanced at her, but nodded, and they all took the time to rearrange their setup before they stepped out.

(Name)’s nose was astounding—the opposing doors burst open to reveal two mechs—one with guns, one with sawblades, and Cloud scowled. It wasn’t like he hadn’t dealt with these pieces of metal before, but they were still _trouble._ Built to withstand a lot of damage, and output just as much—they were built by Shinra for combat, after all.

It was a blessing that both Cloud and (Name) could move with some speed—though Cloud spent a lot of time blocking bullets from the Sweeper. (Name) ducked under the swings of the Cutter and struck at the joints of the machine, and Aerith, wisely, focused on the Sweeper—that cut down the long-range damage, even if the Cutter could fire sawblades.

When they had the Sweeper cut down to scrap metal, (Name) turned to Cloud, “If you can get on top of the thing, cut a hole and get to its wiring.” Cloud thought she was crazy, but she did have a point—but the problem came from actually getting _through_ the armor. “Aerith could fry the internals and overload it.”

Well, it made enough sense, but Cloud wasn’t making bets on his ability to do so.

Still, (Name) jumped in and started to fight in earnest—hinting at the Mako she had flowing through her body—and Cloud decided she was tanking the damage for him to have an opening, so he took it.

He managed to get atop the mech, shoving his sword through the top of it with a particularly forceful—and lucky—strike, and wiggled the blade to open the gap. He dragged his sword around inside, before he jumped down, and Aerith cast a sizzling lightning spell as soon as he was clear.

(Name) now had a particularly artful number of tiny cuts around her arms and one thick one on her cheek, but for all the damage he’d expected her to take, she was almost untouched. She even almost _smiled_ at both of them. “Thanks.”

Aerith grinned much too broadly for the little cuts she, too, sported. “It was a team effort!”

Cloud might have rolled his eyes, if he hadn’t, very privately, had some admiration for the two women.

Not that he’d tell them that.

(Name) inspected her blades, clicking her tongue. “I need to sharpen these again,” she murmured to herself. “They need a good oiling—not that shit Shinra uses.”

Something else he didn’t expect—(Name) had a lot of respect for her weapons and the power she had. She didn’t flaunt her Mako-laced body—she fought with intelligence and used her weapons well. He had thought she’d be less...frugal—she was so brutally honest, he thought she’d be about as brazen as Barret in combat, but she fought like she’d been trained for it.

When they stepped back inside, Aerith started chattering again, talking about how they were going to get Tifa out, speculating on what sort of dress (Name) was going to get.

(Name) drew out her tools and took just enough time to attend her blades—inspecting, sharpening, and oiling them properly before she sheathed them again.

But of course, they were shortly interrupted with Madam M, and the news that they had _one more match._

This time, (Name) had no input—she could smell oil and wood and metal, but that meant nothing. The stadium was full of wood, and stray oil from the last fight, and the scrapped robots were in the second room, too.

There was even more shouting now than in their previous victory—many were cat-calls for Aerith and (Name), but there were a lot of female voices objectifying Cloud, equally.

(Name) scowled, but didn’t look to the stands.

No need to encourage them.

Scotch and Kotch made an enormous deal out of their bonus round, and only Aerith seemed vaguely nervous about it. She stepped back, just once, when the floor opened, smoke filling the room.

(Name) covered her nose.

It was...a house.

_A house._

What, were they supposed to tear down the siding, strip off the shingles, and then get in to knock down the walls?

But then the thing _moved,_ and the three went to action.

Aerith hung back, casting spells when the Hell House shifted elements, slinging healing spells at Cloud and (Name).

When it started rocketing around the stadium, (Name) scoffed. “This is ridiculous.”

“It wasn’t to start with?” Cloud quipped, his tone sour.

“I expect nothing less from Shinra, but flying houses—if they can make something lethal, they’ll do it.”

Cloud got the impression that she was as hateful toward Shinra as Barret, but much less aggressive about it. She’d take them down at her convenience, and expected the worst of them, but she wasn’t about to blow up any reactors over it.

Still, there was something to be said about her composure.

Only after the house came back down, still throwing chairs and explosive plush dolls, did they manage to do any more damage, but—despite all efforts to the contrary—the fight lasted a great deal longer than the others. It took little physical damage, and only fractional elemental damage, because it had resistance to three at a time.

When it fell at last, Aerith protected the audience, Cloud went for the mechanical head, and (Name) jammed the spaces where the chairs were flying out—she rolled out of the way when one of the plush toys exploded just inside the house, negating her efforts with a new hole.

However, with the house a smoldering mess, the three fighters checked themselves over, and then met in the middle—Aerith and Cloud shared a high-five, and (Name) only participated after Aerith encouraged her, but Cloud spotted the edge of a smirk on her lips.

They were informed, on the way out, that they were welcome at the coliseum any time, and Cloud rightfully brushed that off.

People lined the streets outside the building and tried to talk to them, but Cloud just led them right back to the massage parlor.

Waiting on the fence was Leslie’s cat form—the only thing that had remotely interested (Name) since the fights, and when she spotted the silver feline, she actively stopped, and this time, it was she who offered her hand. 

Leslie was quicker to nudge in to her touch than she had been for him, and she returned the favor from earlier—two-fold, in fact, for both of his ears got attention. He didn’t purr, but (Name) knew he liked it, all the same, giving him a surprisingly genuine smile.

When he sat back on his haunches, she tilted her head at him, and he pawed his own cheek—the one she had a cut on.

She shook her head, and she knelt a little.

Cloud now understood that she was _talking_ to Leslie, but it still baffled him.

After only a few minutes, the little cat jumped from his perch and disappeared again.

“Well?”

“He tried to dissuade me again—told me the cut might be a problem. I told him I was going through with it. He’s...nice,” she said, sounding as though she had to choose that word carefully. “He doesn’t belong here.”

Aerith was watching (Name) a lot more closely than before. “You good?”

“Fine,” she assured, and she took a breath. “I suppose I’ll need to patch myself up. No need to make the price tag for this any ‘higher,’” she muttered.

“I’ve got it,” Aerith said, “if you let me.”

Cloud wondered why she was asking—Aerith was usually pretty insistent about taking care of him—but (Name) gave a nod, and Aerith cast her best healing spell, and then used a quickly-mixed medicine.

Cloud figured it was some herbs she grew herself, and he registered the potion she mixed with it—that got dabbed carefully over her cheek, and the worst of the little cuts on the rest of her person.

Inside, the Madam fussed over the wounds on her, and (Name) scowled at her. “They’ll heal shortly,” she protested. “Aerith took the time to clean me up.”

As though looking for something to complain about, she still got scolded over her lack of care for her appearance.

Aerith and Cloud were sent out while she was getting dressed, and they took on a handful of odd jobs—more than enough time for (Name) to finish up, though Cloud quietly muttered that he’d be surprised if Madam M survived the encounter.

Johnny made an enormous fuss about the entire ordeal, and when they stopped in front of Corneo’s mansion, Cloud sent the pest to collect (Name), mostly because he wanted to talk to Leslie.

 _Without_ (Name).

The gatekeeper looked utterly exasperated when they returned, and distinctly scowled when Cloud tried to go in, despite the “endorsement” being for (Name).

Leslie, at last, made it clear—in no uncertain terms—that his haste might get someone _else_ hurt, namely Tifa.

Cloud didn’t understand why (Name) trusted this jerk.

Aerith tried using her sweetness, but was met with a hard stare that said much more than he could verbalize—he didn’t even want _(Name)_ going inside, much less someone who appeared much less lethal without weapons.

They once more headed for the door, and Cloud—though now more determined than ever to get Tifa out—began to worry that there was more danger through the gates than they could imagine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! The reader is a bit OP, but I admit I got to thinking about Mako and the implications of it (this was long before I finished the game) and I sort of got this thing in my head that’s probably going to turn in to an original novel, but I fidgeted with the idea until I could feasibly put it in to the FFVII universe.
> 
> You’ll learn a little more about your character further in, but for now, she’s just a bit of a bitch who can sense Aerith’s significance, and even if Aerith is a bit much for her (far too cheerful), she’ll protect Aerith, all the same.
> 
> Let me know what you think! I have no beta, but I do read through my chapters before I post to check for errors, so do tell if you spot something terribly off!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _DISCLAIMER:_** I do **NOT** own _Final Fantasy VII Remake,_ or **ANY** of its spinoffs, sequels, prequels, characters, contents, or its original material or story. I make no profit off this. I'm just writing for fun.
> 
> Oh my gosh, this story actually got _so much_ more attention than I thought! I really thought it would completely disappear in the category—I don’t see a lot of reader-inserts in the FFVII(R) category here, so I thought it would vanish. Thank you all _so_ much for the kudos and comments and subscriptions and just—thank you _so_ much!
> 
> That said, I know very well that a lot of people were very, very attached to the dancing section—but this chapter is very much where the story begins to veer off the direct canon of the remake. (Yes, I did keep the cross dressing, but I could not abide Cloud’s spiky hair, because it clashes _so badly_ with the extensions in every dress.)
> 
> But there are certain things I could not just... _let_ happen the way they do in the game, and there are a lot of plot holes that I want to iron out and—basically, this is the point where the real diversion begins, because I think an absolute carbon-copy wouldn’t ring as true from me.
> 
> So, what you need to know: I prefer Cloud’s blue dress. I think it flatters him more, because the black is too ordinary, and the purple is far too ornate, and old-fashioned, to me. So, in this one, Cloud’s dress is the one you get by doing Sam’s errands—the very pretty blue corset dress.
> 
> But, I think that’s all you need to get started, so off you go!
> 
> Enjoy!

(Name) was...stunning.  
  
More than stunning.  
  
The red dress revealed much more skin than she ordinarily showed, and she was wearing matching jewelry—even an anklet Cloud recognized as the Star Pendant. Her hair had been styled—and she smelled good, too.  
  
The little cuts all over her had, indeed, disappeared, and if there was anything left of the cut on her cheek, it had been covered in the makeup she now wore.  
  
Her eyes had been accentuated the most—it was, after all, her most exotic trait, and Corneo liked a show.  
  
She, however, did not seem the least bit impressed with her own appearance, and brushed off Aerith’s compliment with an idle “thanks” that sounded half-hearted—she clearly didn’t invest in her appearance.  
  
But she did turn her eyes to Cloud, tilting her head in that strange, cat-like way. “Madam M informed me that Andrea Rhodea would like to meet with you,” she said. “It would allow you to get inside, if you wanted—though it would require you to don a dress, until this ordeal is over.” She shifted her weight slightly, leveling her head. “I suspect you aren’t yet at a level where you would trust me to take care of your friend—and she may, equally, not trust me.” All her words were soft—just loud enough for Cloud and Aerith to catch them, now that they were much closer.  
  
Cloud hadn’t thought of that—honestly, Tifa would likely trust her, so long as she indicated that she knew Cloud—but he had to admit that he wasn’t particularly keen on leaving Tifa—and, to a similar degree, (Name)—to Corneo’s hands without some sort of plan to break in, himself.  
  
But that left a lot of questions in the air, like how many guards were inside, and how dangerous they all were—and he didn’t trust Leslie as far as he could throw the smaller man, even _without_ him being in his cat form.  
  
But (Name) did.  
  
Yet, that left a lot of factors that he couldn’t control.  
  
And getting inside without breaking down the door and causing a ruckus was his best bet…  
  
But that left Aerith alone, outside the mansion. “What about Aerith?”  
  
(Name) gave him a surprisingly sincere smile. “Kitten will take care of that,” she said, and Cloud recognized the name she’d used for Leslie—it could have been for anyone, really, but she’d distinctly addressed him as such, and it matched up to their current circumstances. “I’ve been assured. I trust that it’ll happen.”  
  
Cloud respected her attention to detail—they weren’t far from the mansion, after all, and anyone could be listening—they didn’t know who was working for Corneo.  
  
“Right,” he said, and she knew he didn’t fully trust the situation.  
  
But they _still_ followed her through the streets, to the Honeybee Inn.  
  
Cloud hesitated, at first—he’d do what was necessary, but he still didn’t much like it.  
  
How on earth was he going to pass as a woman?  
  
The entire fiasco went a lot farther than he expected—he had to _practice dancing._ That did not bode well for his immediate future, and having a gaggle of women dressed in costumes giggling and teasing and _flirting_ —  
  
It was too much for Cloud, but he endured it.  
  
But then—then, Andrea Rhodea himself came out of an enormous flower, dancing, practically hitting on him from the start, and then egging him on with gestures, and there it was—he was definitely not getting out of this without making a show out of it.  
  
It seemed Corneo wasn’t the only one who liked some entertainment.  
  
Cloud wasn’t exactly a dancer—if anything, he was the opposite, because most of his usual movements were made with force and power. There wasn’t a grace or rhythm to it the way dancing had—but he found one similarity, in the fluidity required to move from one space to another.  
  
He was grateful he had enough training to play follow-the-leader with the extravagant man, but he was still surprisingly breathless at the end of it.  
  
And then he was shoved in a chair and stripped down, and the fabric was _itchy,_ and too tight, and— _was that a corset?_ That was the only name Cloud had for the thing that was now cinched up around him, giving him a more decidedly feminine shape, and they were clipping something in his hair, and—  
  
Did all makeup stink like this? It was dry and yet musty-smelling, almost like barely-wet clay.  
  
...Did they paint his nails, too?  
  
And _how the hell did women walk in heels?_  
  
Aerith had cheered the whole time, and was now gaping openly at him, and Cloud tried as hard as he could _not_ to wonder what, exactly, he looked like.  
  
It took every ounce of willpower to walk out of the Honeybee Inn, and though Andrea then inquired about his intentions, Cloud was so flustered that all he could manage was to tell Andrea that he was trying to save his friend from Corneo, and didn’t want to make a huge fuss out of the ordeal.  
  
Andrea either respected his dedication to his friend, or he just had a very, very intense crush, because the man then assured that he’d get Cloud’s clothes—and sword—back to him without any sort of fuss—in fact, he promised he’d _help_ Cloud with his mission, to the best of his ability.  
  
He tried to focus on that, but Aerith’s persistent attention made him so flustered that he stopped at the first opportunity and tried to ignore her.  
  
He begged her not to say anything, but then, he saw (Name) out of the corner of his eye.  
  
She was watching him, but her gaze wasn’t prying. “You okay?”  
  
The words were much gentler than he expected of her.  
  
He took a breath. “Yeah.”  
  
She nodded, and then glanced at his hair. “I’ll pass the dress, but your hair—” She shook her head. “It’s...come with me.”  
  
Cloud didn’t like the idea of being seen by too many people, but he still followed her to the gym—which, mercifully, was on the way to the mansion.  
  
Less than mercifully, Jules recognized him.  
  
But (Name) got one look at the man, and gestured at Cloud’s hair. “I have to do something with this,” she said, and for the first time, Cloud heard a very distinct emotion—exasperation.  
  
Jules, to Cloud’s immense astonishment, started to laugh. “It’s not exactly…”  
  
“Feminine,” (Name) supplied. “If he’s going for it, he’d better _go for it.”_  
  
Jules, apparently, did not even suspect a thing—or if he did, he wasn’t commenting. Instead, he nodded toward one of the gaps in the tent, and all three of them followed behind as he led them in to a shower and dressing space.  
  
(Name) pushed Cloud on to one of the benches, and then stepped back, looking at him. “You’re gonna have to redo your hair later, but seriously—unless someone is dumb, horny, or both—this hair is _not_ blending with the rest of your look,” she said.  
  
Cloud almost protested, but then he let out a groan. “Just—get it over with,” he pressed.  
  
(Name) dampened his hair and then smoothed it out—whatever product he was using, it at least wasn’t _gel_ —but it took her some time to get enough of it out to get his hair to lie down.  
  
She used a small comb to smooth it down and then—after figuring out his hair was a great deal longer than it seemed, thanks to its spikes, she managed to shape it just enough to cover the little extensions they’d put in, and styled it to frame his face a little. It showed off his eyes—and it was about the same shape as Leslie’s might have been, if it were a bit shorter, and not hidden by that hat.  
  
Jules, too, looked him over. “It definitely looks better—the spikes were...obvious. Didn’t match the braids,” he muttered.  
  
Cloud, at last, had to ask: “Nobody really...commented?”  
  
“You’re in Wall Market,” Jules dismissed, with an enormous grin. “Most of us have vices in this place. Some people are a little more...open about it, like Andrea—but most everyone has some quiet sides we indulge here.”  
  
That made enough sense, Cloud thought, and explained a lot.  
  
But (Name) offered her hand and Cloud was pulled to his feet, and she gestured at one of the mirrors in the room.  
  
Not that he wanted to, but he did feel obligated to see what she’d done to his hair.  
  
It was...pretty.  
  
If not for the eyes, Cloud would have thought it was a trick mirror, with the way the makeup hid some of his scars, the way his hair now framed his face.  
  
He understood why she’d taken the time—his spikes would have looked almost _masculine,_ which would have contrasted the pigtail braids on his shoulders.  
  
He felt _naked_ without his sword.  
  
Still, he couldn’t just stroll in with that on his back—it’d completely negate all their efforts.  
  
It would also help that, after Corneo supposedly watched the fights in the coliseum, Cloud didn’t look like _Cloud._  
  
And Aerith not being with them would be another help—instead of three, it was two.  
  
Although, it was hard to disguise (Name). Despite the fact that she held little regard for her appearance, she was stunning—she was in excellent shape, well-kept, and attractive. She had those exotic-looking eyes, and she didn’t exactly dress in such a way as to hide her shape. Her hair was cut short—shorter than his, in fact—so it hadn’t changed much. They’d put perfume on her, and put glitter in her hair—so fine that it sparkled like diamonds as they passed the neon signs and street lamps of Wall Market.  
  
Hopefully, Cloud’s disguise would be good enough to keep the secret, even if someone recognized (Name).  
  
When they approached, Leslie recognized Cloud _instantly._ “No way,” he breathed.  
  
“Letters from Andrea Rhodea and Madam M,” (Name) said, offering them to Leslie.  
  
Leslie turned to her and his eyes went from her toes to her hair, then back to her eyes.  
  
He didn’t speak—but his expression said a great deal—he was impressed, maybe even attracted to her, in that moment.  
  
And there was something _sad_ in his face, just for a moment, before he could hide it.  
  
He kept his gaze on her, watching, for a long moment, before he just stepped aside and bowed his head.  
  
(Name) didn’t linger—she just looked ahead, and only followed Cloud because he touched her shoulder to tell her to wait.  
  
Aerith lingered behind, and the two lackeys stepped inside, leaving only Leslie to guard the front. He shook his head when Aerith tried to step through, holding up a finger, and she waited obediently.  
  
Inside, Cloud and (Name) found themselves drugged—knocked out and taken downstairs, where they found Tifa.  
  
She, though bewildered, was very nice to Cloud, despite thinking he was a total stranger—and (Name) let out a surprising snicker when it all came together. Cloud’s blunt, “Nailed it, I know. Thank you. Moving on.” was so distinctly _him_ that (Name) couldn’t help it.  
  
After several long moments of tense waiting—during which Tifa told them she was trying to pry information out of the don, which had led to this entire fiasco—they were called to present themselves.  
  
Cloud hated every moment of it.  
  
As Corneo inspected them, looking at them far too closely, grabbing them—Cloud was tempted to lash out, but (Name) was faster: “What, you can’t keep a woman once she sees _just how little_ you’ve got to offer?”  
  
Cloud wondered if she was trying to throw him off, or just giving him incentive not to choose her.  
  
“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Corneo said, zeroing in on her. “I’ll enjoy breaking it in,” he spat.  
  
“Good luck,” she returned, narrowing her eyes. “What I see, I’m too much for you.”  
  
“I’ve made my choice,” he said, grabbing her by the arm. “The leftovers are yours,” he sneered.  
  
He dragged her to his room, and Cloud and Tifa were left to follow the lackeys to another room.  
  
Cloud and Tifa made short work of the underlings—they didn’t have a clue what hit them, and then Leslie walked in with Aerith at his side. He was carrying Cloud’s sword—with some effort—and Aerith was carrying a bag with their belongings inside. “Aerith and Andrea filled me in with what (Name) said,” he said, and he didn’t quite seem winded, but it was clear that Cloud’s sword required some effort.  
  
Cloud took the item with ease, and Tifa thanked them.  
  
Leslie glanced between them, “I knew he’d choose her,” he muttered, barely audible, before he took a step back. “Get in there. I’ll take care of this,” he said, more distinctly, “Just finish the job.”  
  
Cloud managed to get changed with Aerith and Tifa helping him out of the dress, and he happily ripped out the extensions and scratched the back of his head, before he returned his sword to its rightful place.  
  
Leslie told them to hurry, and as they escaped, they could hear other lackeys on the ground floor, making less-than-nice implications about all the bullshit that happened in this crooked place. They broke through, in to the space where the auditions happened, and took out another set of goons, and then burst through to the place they saw Corneo take (Name).  
  
Instead of finding her in the midst of enduring comments or harassment, the woman had already given Corneo a very distinct black eye, and the bastard was already calling for one of his lackeys to “come and teach this bitch some manners!,” but (Name) was utterly unmoved by him _or_ his attitude.  
  
“Sorry, but… Your boys had to learn some manners, too,” Tifa said, grinning.  
  
“What the hell?”  
  
“I’d suggest you answer all of her questions,” (Name) said, and the Mako in her eyes was brighter than ever. “I can do a lot worse than that pretty bruise—and I don’t have my weapons on me, but _they_ do,” she added.  
  
To their surprise, Corneo actually shirked away from her.  
  
Tifa took the opening, “Why’d you have men in Sector 7 asking about Avalanche?”  
  
Corneo glanced sideways at (Name), but still lied outright, “Huh? Dunno know what you’re talking about.”  
  
Tifa stepped forward, “Don’t play dumb with me,” she insisted, folding her arms. “Let’s try again.” She slowed her speech, as though Corneo was dumb—or not listening, one, “Why did you have men in Sector 7 asking about Avalanche? Spill the beans, or…”  
  
Cloud reached over his shoulder for his sword, and (Name) nodded at him—he drew the blade. “I’ll cut ‘em off,” he said, his sword at the ready.  
  
This time, Corneo’s eyes zeroed in on the blade that was almost as big as its wielder, and there was a distinct fear in his eyes. “Alright, alright! I’ll talk! I’ll talk!”  
  
Aerith and Tifa hummed at him, but Cloud did not put his blade away—he didn’t trust this slimeball. He wondered, once more, what Leslie was doing working for him—and why, exactly, (Name) trusted him.  
  
Corneo adjusted his position on the bed, sounding intimidated, but there was something… _off._ “Some guy with a gun for an arm—I was paid to find him!”  
  
Tifa tilted her head, “Paid by who?”  
  
“I can’t tell you that! They’d hunt me down like a dog!”  
  
“You’re worse than one,” (Name) spat, sneering at him, and shifted her weight, “Your men are all knocked out, so stalling isn’t helping you.”  
  
Aerith held up her hand, “I’ll _rip_ ‘em off,” she pressed, almost enthusiastically, “so _answer.”_  
  
Corneo let out a nervous sound that was much too similar to a whinny for anyone’s liking. “It was the director of Public Security! Heidegger! It was Heidegger!”  
  
He borderline-shrieked the confession, but (Name) was not happy. She _knew_ he was putting a lot of this on.  
  
But Tifa was too stunned by the information to see that there was something off about Corneo, because her arms dropped and she moved forward, her face opening up with surprise and a drop of fear, “Shinra!? And what were they planning?”  
  
She was too urgent about it, (Name) thought. Letting too much on.  
  
Corneo crawled on to his knees, “Some things are better left unsaid, ya know!?”  
  
Aerith glanced at (Name), but pressed on, “See, I’m not so sure they are. Better keep talking…” Her voice was entirely too sweet for how threatening she appeared, and the enormous sword held just behind her, in _very_ capable hands.  
  
Tifa put her boot up on the end of the bed, right near Corneo, “Or I’ll smash ‘em.”  
  
(Name) stood to the side, and Cloud was looking at her out of the corner of his eye.  
  
There was something _off,_ and the _one_ thing that he knew—(Name) trusted her instincts, and she knew something was going on. The Mako in her eyes was practically _glowing_ by now.  
  
And then there was that stupid sound again, and Corneo looked borderline _smug._ “Alright, you got me. I could never say ‘no’ to a sexy girl,” he continued, and (Name)’s lip drew back—Cloud could swear her canines looked too sharp. “Since Avalanche blew up two reactors, Shinra’s decided they ought to stamp them out, home base and all.” He paused for just a moment, bringing his hands together, “And I mean, ‘stamp out.’” He mimicked smashing something, using his hands. “By targeting the support pillar, and blowing it up,” he continued, flashing his hands, much too enthused.  
  
“The pillar?” Tifa seemed to forget she was supposed to be threatening, because she leaned in, all of her posture dropping.  
  
“Did I stutter?” Corneo still had that smugness, like, even if they killed him, it wouldn’t change a thing. “The plate will come crashing down!” he continued, making another horrifying sound effect, grinning far too much for how _grim_ the reality was. “It’ll be Sector 6 all over again.” He paused, looking them over, “I’m sure you’ve been there and seen the wreckage for yourself. So you know exactly what Sector 7’s gonna look like!”  
  
He was much too enthused about it—the very definition of a sadist, which just proved how sick they already knew he was.  
  
Tifa was too overwhelmed, had already stopped thinking about what, exactly, the situation was—there were still conscious lackeys and Leslie hadn’t shown his face since bringing their clothes. “They wouldn’t...”  
  
Aerith jumped in, “Come on guys! We gotta go!”  
  
The three turned to leave, but (Name) didn’t take her eyes off the psychotic asshole.  
  
“Before you do!” Corneo sounded too happy.  
  
“No,” Cloud said, without even pausing to turn around.  
  
“Please,” Corneo said, and he dared to gesture at (Name), trying to tell her to step toward the other three. “This won’t take long!”  
  
She didn’t budge, but the other three turned back, walking toward him, just a little—Cloud had already put his sword away, knowing they had to move _quickly,_ and making a scene wasn’t exactly conducive to that. “As everyone knows, villains only divulge their plans in a certain situation,” Corneo said, walking across his bed, even turning his back on the three. He turned back, “But what _is_ that situation?”  
  
Cloud didn’t pause to think, “When they think they’ve already won,” he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, mostly because it would be taking too much of a risk around the piece of shit before them.  
  
Despite Corneo quipping that their reward for a correct answer was an all-expenses-paid trip to the sewers, it happened too fast—the floor fell open instantaneously, and the three fell through.  
  
However, at the same time—and despite her restrictive dress—(Name) launched herself at Corneo with every ounce of power she had, throwing him across the room.  
  
He was lucky enough to not hit his head, but he did not come away unscathed, as (Name) chased after him, grabbing the nearest object, already acting on the urge to murder the sick excuse for a human.  
  
“Leslie! Get in here!”  
  
Corneo’s shout could be heard far beyond the walls, and (Name) knew he’d have to respond.  
  
Unfortunately, Leslie _was_ a good actor—or, fortunately, in equal parts, perhaps.  
  
He ran in, drawing his gun, and he fired—while telling her to get out of the way, and she earned a definite cut on the outside of her shoulder.  
  
She shouted, punching Corneo as _hard_ as she could, and the man folded like paper—he screamed in agony, Leslie fired again, and he went for her—  
  
But (Name) was so much more animal than human in that moment, and she snarled, screaming, and launched herself at him, too.  
  
Leslie’s animal instinct froze him up, made his whole body stiffen, and then go limp when she knocked him to the floor, her teeth bared.  
  
The breath left his body and really _did_ knock him senseless, but he got her message loud and clear.  
  
She climbed off him and fled out the door, dress and all, and every lackey on the way fell to an outstanding hit that knocked them out, and then she was _gone._  
  
Leslie faked it all the way—though the bruise spreading across his chest did a lot to help. Corneo whined about his injuries, sending absolutely every lackey available out to hunt her down, and Leslie was obligated to stay and get the best man he could to attend Corneo’s injuries.  
  
(Name) had not held back—in fact, the black eye was minor.  
  
She shattered his orbital bone on the other side, and blood gushed out of his nose as his face fractured—indeed, it took a lot more effort to even _begin_ to reconstruct his face, and it cost a small fortune to get it done right then, but Corneo would have nothing to do with waiting.  
  
When Leslie was finally released—and only _after_ almost every one of Corneo’s living lackeys had been summoned to guard the mansion for the fraction of the night remaining, outside a small handful left on the manhunt for (Name)—he was exhausted, edgy, and sore all over.  
  
(Name) hadn’t exactly held back when she slammed in to him, and his chest was hurting, and his back, elbows, and shoulders had taken the brunt of the hard hit.  
  
He wanted a hot shower.  
  
But waiting for him was (Name), and he had already known she would need her clothes—she hadn’t changed.  
  
She’d taken the time to tell him she intended to be the one he picked, if she could control the circumstances, because she had no issue with killing scum.  
  
Leslie had not protested, for a number of reasons.  
  
But she had also told him not to worry about her clothes—in the most desperate circumstances, she always had her panther form—she could deal with any problems as necessary, she said.  
  
But Leslie knew better, and had told her to find him—he knew she would be able to find his scent—that he’d keep her things safe in his own place. He was carrying them now, though he didn’t know how long it would take her to get there—if she would hide out for a while.  
  
Leslie actually _hated_ the rooms the other thugs shared, because they were loud.  
  
But he also needed privacy, for his own reasons, because there was absolutely no way he could let anyone find out all his secrets.  
  
So when he arrived to see a panther sleeping in front of his door, Leslie didn’t flinch—until he smelled the blood.  
  
He knelt in front of her, and she lifted her head, peering at him, the Mako in her eyes dimmer. “Come on,” he murmured, leaning over her, nudging his door open.  
  
She made it inside, though he saw the blood running down her leg.  
  
“(Name),” he murmured, and as soon as the door was shut, she shifted in to her human body—and there was a deep gash in the outside of her upper arm, and several scratches on the rest of her arms, and another deep one on her calf.  
  
She groaned and wrapped her hand around the one on her arm. “You’re either the best shot, or the worst,” she hissed.  
  
Leslie had the sense to dash around her, scrambling for cloth, first—as soon as he had that, he tied both of the wounds, and she hissed quietly. “Fuck,” she whispered.  
  
“I was trying to _not_ hit you,” he said. “You didn’t exactly stay still.”  
  
“I’d have killed him if you gave me another minute,” she said.  
  
“I couldn’t,” he muttered.  
  
“Right.” She looked him over, taking a breath. “Help me out of this damn thing,” she decided.  
  
Leslie, astoundingly, did not blush or fidget—he just stepped around her, helping her get out of the dress with care—she hadn’t gotten any blood on it, perhaps due to her taking her panther form.  
  
She was only wearing underwear—the dress had required a very particular type of support for her breasts—so Leslie disappeared, and when he returned with a shirt and a pair of shorts, she let him get her in to that, too—her arm was screaming with pain.  
  
“Goddamn,” she whispered. “You got poison on those bullets?”  
  
“I don’t use Materia,” he murmured, and then he steered her toward his couch. “Stay. I’m going to patch you up.”  
  
She let herself sink in to the couch, though her whole body ached— _every_ cell was burning, and she was _exhausted._  
  
She wanted to sleep. Badly.  
  
“You didn’t pass out on me, did you?”  
  
“Much as I could,” she murmured, cracking her eyes open, “I can’t.”  
  
Leslie wondered, for a moment, if she’d taken a hit in the head, but he sat down at her side, reaching for the now-soaked cloth around her arm, wincing. “Sorry.”  
  
“Could’ve done worse,” she muttered, but she tipped her head back. “How’s your chest?”  
  
“You knocked the wind out of me,” he admitted.  
  
“No breaks?”  
  
“Dunno,” he said, and he warned her quietly when he began to clean the cut.  
  
“Fuck!” She clenched her hand tightly, her whole body twisting. “Why don’t you use Materia?”  
  
“Few reasons,” he said, and he looked at her. “It’s a show of skill, for Corneo—being powerful enough to function without it,” he explained. “But I also don’t have slots for it—it’s difficult in a pistol.”  
  
“Fuck your pistol,” she muttered, and she nodded. “Get my knives, kitten—bring all my shit, if you would.”  
  
Leslie obeyed her, and she grabbed both blades with one hand, gasping hoarsely when her Materia took effect. “I used too much energy on that bastard,” she muttered. “I can’t cast.”  
  
Leslie scowled faintly, and then tilted his head. “I can patch you up good enough for you to sleep,” he offered. “I really didn’t mean to hit you.”  
  
“You’re much softer than I thought,” she muttered, but she pulled her pants out of the bag he handed her, fishing in her pocket, pulling out a blue Materia. She removed another—this one green—and shoved the blue in its place. “Here, kitten—give me your dominant hand.”  
  
Leslie was vaguely wary, but he obeyed her. “You don’t need to call me that,” he said, in the first protest he’d made for the name.  
  
She put the weapon she’d altered in his hand—it had a green, a blue, and a purple Materia in it—and she grinned at him. “Oh, I like it,” she said, softly. “You’re about as lethal as one.”  
  
Leslie didn’t use the stuff himself, but he _felt_ the power in her weapon. “I’m more dangerous than you think,” he protested, but he was looking at the blade. “What am I doing with this?”  
  
“My Materia’s maxed—there’s a Magic-Up, Magnify, and Healing Materia in that one. Cast Curaga—it’ll do most of the job, and it should help you, too.”  
  
Leslie knew how to cast, but he wasn’t _used_ to it.  
  
So it took him a moment to use the Materia she’d equipped in the blade, and yet, once it was cast, he could see her skin knitting back together, though there were two definite scars left behind.  
  
His chest also felt much better.  
  
She groaned and threw her head back on to the couch, letting out a heavy breath. “Fuck,” she breathed, and this time, the word was relieved. “Thanks.”  
  
He put her weapon back where it belonged, and he took up cleaning around the wound again—though the wound was sealed enough to stop bleeding, there was blood most of the way down her arm. “You helped me,” he murmured.  
  
“Not so much—I could’ve killed you. I let the...beast take over,” she whispered. “It’s been a while since I let so much of the Mako take me.”  
  
Leslie was silent as she caught her breath, her face smoothing.  
  
The makeup was smudged and blotchy—she’d been sweating, and the scent of perfume was inelegantly mixed with the stench of her blood and sweat. If he was being honest, she _stunk._ She smelled a little too much like the long nights he’d smelled on patrons in Wall Market—the only thing absent was alcohol.  
  
“You don’t seem very human in the first place,” he observed, but the words were much gentler than his earlier prod at her past. He’d gotten most of the blood above her elbow, but he had to head for the sink to rinse the cloth he was using.  
  
“I’m not,” she admitted. “Haven’t been for a long time. I try not to...let that out,” she said, carefully. “I spend the beast on hunting monsters—most of them the mess out in the Slums, but some like Corneo.”  
  
Leslie believed that. “You not hunted for a while?”  
  
“I took down a few on the way here, following Cloud and Aerith,” she murmured. “But him—I could _smell_ it. The way he drugged us—and his lackeys, I knew. Those girls—”  
  
Leslie dropped to sit in the floor, rubbing at the blood on her leg, avoiding her gaze. “I’d rather not think about that.”  
  
It was (Name)’s turn to be quiet, for a very long moment, before she sighed. “I won’t pretend I understand why you were there—but I know you don’t stink like them,” she said, gently.  
  
“Someone’s scent tells you what they’re like?”  
  
His voice was astoundingly vicious, but (Name) knew better. “You use it, too,” she said.  
  
“I haven’t used that part of me in a while,” he replied.  
  
There was a lot in that statement—little notes that said a lot more than the words implied.  
  
There was resentment, longing, regret, anger—and whispers of wistfulness and fear.  
  
She hesitated, and Leslie looked at her around the edge of the bill of his cap—a gaze he would never make directly, in that moment.  
  
Something around her had shattered.  
  
It was that hard outer shell—it was a trust she hadn’t given the two people she’d arrived with, and a vulnerability.  
  
She looked tired, but thoughtful.  
  
The Mako in her eyes was nearly invisible, but for the ring around her pupil, and even it was a great deal dimmer than normal.  
  
“I wondered why I didn’t know when I met you,” she said, at last.  
  
Leslie got to his feet and rinsed the cloth again, scoffing. “I knew the second you walked up—I smelled you through the door, even though I wasn’t trying.”  
  
“It’s what I am,” she said, softly. “The only thing I have left,” she added.  
  
He took too long to wring the water out, knowing he’d have to throw the thing away—it was covered in her blood in a splotchy pattern. “I’m sorry I asked, earlier.”  
  
She snorted. “You should have,” she countered. “I don’t tell most people. The last person I told...she passed a few years ago.”  
  
Leslie bit the bullet and crossed back to her, kneeling again. “Must have been special.”  
  
“As special as someone could be, back then,” she said. “She was...nice. Lonely. Very old.” She watched him finish wiping off the blood, and after he rinsed the cloth again, she asked for it.  
  
She wiped around her face, scrubbing as much of the makeup off as she could, scowling the whole time, but when that was over, she let out a sigh. “I was a little girl,” she murmured. “Got hunted down, ran in the forest—it changed me, as you know.” She was careful with her words, speaking slowly, too softly. “I cried for ages. Mom raised me in the Thicket. But when I was hunting, I was called—I tried to fight, but...well. No one gets out of there with everything they had,” she muttered. “She sent me down the river. I...drowned. I was sure I was gonna die, but Mom—she got me out. She’d had me too long, she said. She was half-dead, herself, but...she saved me. That was the last time I ever cried. I think I was twelve, maybe. I couldn’t stay. Mom had Mako poisoning—I got it out, somehow. She let me go, but I...I know she was sad.”  
  
Leslie heard the emotion in her voice—something lonely, and sad, but it was far away. “I didn’t fit in, so I kept moving. I got to Midgar only after I was an adult. I settled here—my parents had a new kid by the time I found them. Got tired of traveling. People here assume I was some kind of ‘prototype’ for Shinra, around here. I don’t get as many questions, and it’s easier to let out the animal. I’m a better cat than I am a human.” She paused, and she looked at him, now. “The old lady—she took care of me sometime after I escaped the forest. She was the closest thing I had to a loving mother—she didn’t say anything about how weird I was. I think I reminded her of someone.”  
  
Leslie hesitated before he got back to his feet, and then he sat beside her. “I wasn’t in the forest for long,” he admitted, after a moment. “Just long enough to transform. The woman who found me was a panther, too,” he muttered. “She was old. She carried me out in her teeth—left me at the edge of the forest. I was...older than you.”  
  
“Was there Mako in her eyes?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Not my mother,” she murmured.  
  
“Did you ever want to go back?”  
  
“I miss her,” she admitted, “but the forest...it feels...it _felt_ ...I didn’t belong anymore,” she murmured. “To be honest, I...I haven’t felt at home in a long time.”  
  
Leslie waited for a long moment, before he finally let himself sink back in his couch. He took his hat off, and ran his hand through his hair, before he leaned his head back. “I know that feeling,” he admitted, after too long.  
  
(Name) let out a sigh, and she ran a hand over her arm, before she took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said, quietly. “You didn’t have to help me.”  
  
“You might be dead if I didn’t,” he dead-panned.  
  
“I think I’m a little tougher than that,” she muttered, “but I do appreciate it.”  
  
Leslie chuckled. “I know you are,” he said, very quietly. “If you’ll forgive me, I’ll be honest—you stink.”  
  
“Yeah, I do,” she admitted. “I think I can make it home from here—it’s just a walk.”  
  
Leslie looked surprised, and then scowled. “You think I’m gonna let you leave with that kind of blood loss?”  
  
“I sort of got the impression you weren’t keen on keeping a woman around,” she said.  
  
He showed a flash of surprise again, and then averted his eyes. “That’s a long story,” he said, and his voice had shut out all the emotion again. “But I’d feel better if you stayed.”  
  
She hesitated, and then nodded. “Then I’ll just thank you.”  
  
Leslie nodded, and got to his feet. “Come on. You can take a shower first.”  
  
(Name) let Leslie help her to her feet, and she had a slight limp, but Leslie led her to the bathroom, and she managed to clean herself up, and then dress herself.  
  
Leslie was in the kitchen when she got out, and he offered her a bowl of food, and a drink. “You need your strength back,” he said.  
  
It wasn’t much—it actually looked like leftovers, but she took it gratefully. “Thank you. Aren’t you going to eat?”  
  
“I had a bit while you were cleaning up,” he said. “You smell better.”  
  
(Name) laughed. “Shower made a world of difference,” she said, and she rubbed her arm. “Helped the soreness. Thank you.”  
  
Leslie nodded, and then he stepped back. “I’m going to get cleaned up,” he said. “Don’t worry about the dishes.”  
  
(Name) thanked him, and he disappeared.  
  
His place smelled clean—despite being in the slums, the place was well-kept.  
  
He’d told her as little as he could—just enough to earn her trust—but she didn’t know the whole story. He had told her he was in deep cover—that he’d lost someone to Corneo and was trying to get close enough to get answers—and he had, after all, tried to dissuade them.  
  
Which implied that maybe he’d lost someone he loved to Corneo—perhaps a wife or girlfriend, but maybe a sister or cousin, for all she knew.  
  
But she’d make the bet that it was someone he _loved_ —someone he meant to spend his life with.  
  
The place was much better-kept than that of most men—even if they weren’t trashy, most left some kind of mess, and didn’t much care for their living space—didn’t bother with furnishings. Everything was much more simplistic and disregarded than Leslie kept it.  
  
It wasn’t distinctly for two people—but it could comfortably house two, even if it was a little small.  
  
It was almost like...he was waiting for someone.  
  
Maybe he was waiting for her to come back.  
  
(Name) made a mental note to disappear when this was all over, if he didn’t give her any sort of positive reaction. She didn’t want to intrude on his space.  
  
She would admit to herself, however, that he was the closest she’d felt to being at home. It was something familiar, having someone with a shared experience—getting trapped in that awful forest, and losing a part of themselves there.  
  
No one could become something else—could become _trapped_ and _lost_ and _isolated_ and not leave something behind.  
  
The change to becoming a cat—the _pain_ the first time it happened, the way there was no comfort, the feeling like death had to come, but never getting that relief—  
  
It was impossible to hold on to the person you were, because there was no way an ordinary human would survive in that forest.  
  
Something got left behind in the forest—it seemed to _eat_ up the humans that dared trespass, and if they ever got out, they didn’t leave the way they’d come.  
  
She hadn’t met much of anyone who’d escaped that forest—it was almost impossible to survive it, let alone get back out.  
  
And here he was, living, breathing—he’d gotten out.  
  
He knew how it felt, leaving something behind, himself. He knew what it felt like, not belonging with other people anymore.  
  
And now that he’d taken his cat form a couple of times in front of her, he was smelling more familiar—a little less human, a little more like...like the forest.  
  
As foreboding and heavy as the forest was, there was a part of her that still called it home.  
  
She wasn’t sure she could ever go back there, but…  
  
Something about Leslie felt...safe. Felt like home.  
  
But the truth was, (Name) was used to _not_ feeling that way—to being alone, to making her own space she could occupy in familiar comfort.  
  
A comfort she had earned after _years_ of coming to realize how _different_ she was.  
  
But Leslie…  
  
She felt like she could let down her defenses around him, because he knew what it was to be _inhuman_ in the way that she was.  
  
She took a deep breath and shut the door on her thoughts, and took down the food with little effort—if it was Leslie’s cooking, he wasn’t bad, but it was a little plain. He’d given her juice, probably to put some sugar in her blood, after he’d cleaned _so much_ blood off her skin.  
  
She could deal with all of this _tomorrow,_ after some sleep.  
  
When he returned to the kitchen, however, her head lifted, and she couldn’t help it—she inhaled deeply, and got up entirely too fast.  
  
Leslie wrapped his arm around her waist when she stumbled on her leg. “What is it?”  
  
He sounded...worried.  
  
“You smell like—” She cut herself off, and then buried her face in his shoulder. She didn’t know how exhausted she was until she was on her feet, her leg and shoulder aching, despite the healing spell.  
  
“I did just shower,” he said, his voice back to that level, neutral tone.  
  
It was his way of giving her an out—letting her change the subject, if she wanted.  
  
“You smell like wood,” she breathed. “I miss that scent.”  
  
He stiffened, at first, but then, the arm around her waist tightened gently, curling around the base of her spine, pulling her closer. He let out a sigh, and it sounded tired—but there was something else there, too. “It’s the cat,” he murmured.  
  
“I know,” she said, and she pressed her nose in to his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired,” she said, and it was very true—she was leaning her weight in to him. “I know better. I think you just...remind me of...home. The first time—all that pain, when it was finally over, it was just...comforting, to lie in the trees.”  
  
There was another distinct sigh from Leslie, but he didn’t push her away. “Still sore?”  
  
“You took two awfully deep chunks out of me, kitten,” she murmured, but this time, the nickname was warm—affectionate, even. “And the exhaustion. My body needs to recover.”  
  
“The bed’s all yours. I’ll take the couch,” he offered.  
  
“Don’t want to run you out of your bed,” she protested. “You’ve done more for me than...most anyone, actually.”  
  
This time, Leslie was very, very quiet, and still. He waited for a long moment, before he spoke. “What if I told you I was being selfish, because I wanted your help?”  
  
The words didn’t surprise her—if anything, something in her stomach settled. “Looking for someone?”  
  
He stiffened—just a little, just for a moment, before he forced himself to loosen. He’d done it so much, to cover up all his lies, to keep anyone from seeing his weaknesses—it came naturally. “I don’t use my senses the way you do,” he said, at last. “If you would help me, I think—I think I could—”  
  
“Happy to, if you let me kill Corneo—or if you promise to do it yourself.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
(Name) drew back from him, at last, and she gave him a tired, but warm smile. “Right. I’d rather not pass out on you, so—”  
  
“Come on,” he offered, curling his arm around her, and she started toward the couch, but he tugged her back the way he’d come. “No need to hunt without a _good_ rest,” he said, insistent. “You’re taking the bed.”  
  
(Name) thought about telling him she wouldn’t try anything—she knew he had someone he was looking for, and aside from gut instinct, he didn’t seem likely to develop any relationship with (Name) outside of their mutual agreement to hunt down Corneo and pry the information from his crooked self.  
  
But he might not have taken that very well.  
  
So when he got her to the bed, she laid down obediently—and Leslie did not linger, other than to tell her goodnight as he turned off the light.  
  
(Name) replied in kind, and he hadn’t even made it to the couch by the time she was knocked out, smelling his shampoo on the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what’s the verdict? What do you guys think?
> 
> Just a little bit of background for the reader’s character, a taste of the origin of her particular...abilities, which I hope you like!
> 
> Leslie is on the opposite end—she embraced the cat, and he tried to forget it.
> 
> I had to flatten out Cloud’s hair—I had to. I know his spikes are signature, but if Corneo really _did_ watch the matches, why didn’t he recognize Cloud’s hair? Was it all fake and the answer is always yes? Or did Leslie call the shots to let the extra men fight with “Beck’s Badasses” in that round? But seriously, I actually _hated_ his hair in the purple dress, and I very much prefer the braids, but the spikes _still_ don’t fit.
> 
> And, seriously, _how_ did Leslie carry Cloud’s sword with one hand, and the bag of clothes in the other? (I didn’t cover how they managed to get Tifa’s clothes from Sector 7, either.) Unless the programmers _planned_ for it to be the Nail Bat weapon...
> 
> So he carried the sword, and Aerith took care of the clothes, which seems much more realistic, or Leslie should have just outright murdered Corneo, because surely he’s got the power to do it, if he can just one-hand Cloud’s sword.
> 
> I wasn’t letting Corneo get away without injury—he deserves that at the least, what he does to those women.
> 
> I just couldn’t let him get away unscathed, although Leslie _did_ shoot (Name) in turn, but she’s tough.
> 
> I had to send (Name) in to warn Barret, because how on earth does he find out? Reno/Rude could have just gotten off at the top of the pillar and dropped the plate, but there was a full-blown fight for the pillar. So how did Sector 7 know?
> 
> So I had to send her off for it, because it absolutely drove me nuts that the pillar fight was just...already...happening?
> 
> So (Name) is a patch, there.
> 
> I do picture Leslie as being too neat, in his own way, because he’s holding on to Merle—he’s doing his best for her.
> 
> I do know that a handgun can hold Materia, but there’s none in Leslie’s gun—so I assume he doesn’t use it normally.
> 
> I think that’s about all I wanted to note—hopefully you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> If you note any particular errors, please let me know! I write without a beta and just edit when I post, so do tell if you notice anything particularly terrible, please!
> 
> I hope you guys liked it! Thank you so much for reading!


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _DISCLAIMER:_** I do **NOT** own _Final Fantasy VII Remake,_ or **ANY** of its spinoffs, sequels, prequels, characters, contents, or its original material or story. I make no profit off this. I'm just writing for fun.
> 
> Well, at least nobody hated the last chapter and my insistence that Cloud’s hair needed work!
> 
> I’ve started writing an Avatar: The Last Airbender fic, too, and I want to try to update both fics once a week—but I have recently started a job and have an interview for another, so my time may eventually be very limited. I do have a good few chapters of this one done (because I really do like to write things out in advance, because I like to make sure I keep things consistent), but I don’t think I’ve done more than five chapters...but each is also 6000+ words long.
> 
> So, for now, I think that I want to try to update this fic on Tuesdays, but that may slow to once every two weeks, depending on my job(s).
> 
> So, I apologize in advance if things slow down significantly, because I also do know that this fic may veer dramatically away from the canon of the original FFVII, as I still can’t find enough interest in the game.
> 
> That said, I won’t delay you any longer—off you go! I hope you lot enjoy this!

(Name) woke too early—her body felt like lead and her head was foggy, and her arm and leg were both aching fiercely. It had been a long time since she took a hit like that—monsters in the Slums didn’t usually carry guns, and the ones that did _never_ got the chance to draw on her.

But Leslie hadn’t tried to hit her—not in earnest.

He’d still done a lot of damage, compared to the usual cuts and bruises she sported—the bullets had torn through flesh and muscle and, despite the healing spell, she knew she would have some rich bruises where he’d gotten her.

Fuck that pistol of his. She was getting him a proper sword—especially if they were going to hunt down Corneo. He wouldn’t master it right away, but if she had learned _anything_ about Leslie, it was that he’d do what he had to.

So she could run through the basics with him, give him some Materia, and set him on his way.

He didn’t have to give up his gun—she could get him a one-handed sword, like her own—but if he was going to do something as crazy as go after a man with a small army at his behest, he needed a close-range weapon he could use for at least _some_ level of defense. Long-range wasn’t worth it if one did not have a proper defense—there were beasts and people alike that moved too quickly to fire off a round, which led to intense danger.

Especially in someone like Leslie, who seemed, despite his cold exterior, to have a soft heart.

Maybe not a sword—something he chose would be fine, so long as he actually had a close-range weapon. He needed _something._

She sat up, hissing as the pain flared in her arm, and looked down to find it was purple and green around the thick scar.

She didn’t blame him, even if she didn’t understand him sparing Corneo.

Maybe he just wanted to kill the bastard himself.

She got to her feet and headed for the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face, double-checking that none of the makeup or glitter had survived her shower.

She hated that.

Still, when that was done, she crept quietly toward the living room.

Leslie was still asleep.

She hesitated, feeling awkward—this was his house, and she had already slept in his bed, but she didn’t want to disturb him.

But then, she saw that his breathing wasn’t even.

His face was slightly scrunched—like he was in pain.

She padded toward him, kneeling, and gently touched his arm. “Leslie?”

His eyes squeezed tighter, and she wondered if she should back down, but she was worried about the way she’d slammed him to the floor. “Leslie, wake up,” she said, gently shaking his arm. “Are you alright?”

He moved just fast enough for her to be surprised—he had his gun held under her chin and she lifted her head. She didn’t flinch or draw back—she kept calm, outside taking her hand off him.

She met his eyes, and it took him a moment to truly register, and he might have _dropped_ the gun if he hadn’t had enough of his senses about him. “(Name)?”

He might have had a note of bewilderment under the huskiness of his first word of the day.

“You seemed to be in pain,” she said, softly, and she sat down in the floor, now. “Is your chest okay?”

He dropped back against the couch, blowing his hair out of his face in a sigh. “Other than my heart racing, I think I’m okay.”

She waited for a long moment, and then nodded. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said.

“I should already be up,” he said, brushing it off. “Corneo’s going to kill me,” he muttered.

“He’d have to go through me, and you already know he couldn’t.” She was watching him, however. “Seriously—are you good?”

He groaned softly. “‘M fine,” he insisted, throwing his arm over his face—he’d reset the safety on the weapon already. “Just—”

Leslie didn’t get to finish—the world around them shook so hard that dust rained from the ceiling, and (Name) shot forward, throwing herself over Leslie, casting a spell around the both of them from the bracer she wore.

There was a cascade of loud crashes—explosions—and the ground shook for several long moments.

Leslie didn’t feel himself wrap his arms around her, but when the cacophony dissipated, and deafening silence became oppressive, his body began to loosen—and he felt his grip slackening around her ribs.

He could feel her heart racing in her chest. “That—that was the plate, wasn’t it?”

Her voice was much quieter than he expected—and there was a horror in her tone.

Leslie felt cold spread through his torso, like a block of ice had just dropped in his stomach. “I—did they—did they drop—”

“He didn’t tell you,” she whispered, realizing—he hadn’t been in the room when they were interrogating Corneo— _he didn’t know._ “Shinra—they wanted to wipe out Avalanche,” she said. “They dropped the plate to do it.”

As cold as his affect could be—as apathetic as Leslie made himself to try to get to Corneo—his blood turned to ice.

His grip on her tightened again, and he was holding her too tightly, he knew it, but—

But if he didn’t, he felt like something in him might shatter and break off, and he would never be able to pull it back together.

Even for Merle—why had he worked for a man who would just—just _let_ people die—who’d practically _encourage it?_

He was horrified, thinking about the questions Corneo had been asking about the man with the gun for an arm—thinking how many people had been sent to Sector 7—

Corneo had found out he lived in Sector 7, and informed Shinra, and they’d _murdered thousands of people._

He felt sick.

Then, her hands softly touched his hair, stroking through the strands gently. “I’m buying you a close-range weapon, so we can go after that bastard.”

“I don’t know how to use anything like that,” he managed, despite the urge to vomit. Her touch didn’t help—he _hated_ himself, he _hated_ Corneo. He hated _everything._ She shouldn’t be trying to soothe him.

She shifted, pulling away from him, kneeling at his side. “I’m going to give you a quick lesson—what good is a cat without his claws?”

Leslie snorted, this time—it was a small distraction, at least. He put his arm back over his face, trying to shut everything out. “I’m not as much of a cat as you are.”

“As much as I would hesitate to say this to most, that is _not_ helping you, here,” she said. “You want Corneo dead? You’re too human. The cat will help.”

Leslie didn’t move his arm from his eyes—he was, admittedly, exhausted. He was sore, probably bruised—and his mind was whirling. He felt sick, and hateful, and _bereaved._

He knew she was right, though.

But part of the reason he hadn’t used his cat—part of the reason he’d left that behind—

Well. Maybe...maybe he should let that part of himself out, again.

He’d muffled and crushed it, to fit in again—to try to have a normal life, but…

“I don’t know how to... _indulge_ that,” he admitted. Maybe he could use it, kill Corneo—and maybe he’d get taken out on the way.

He’d deserve it.

She was quiet, and he didn’t interrupt.

He had too much swirling in his head right now to take the effort to extract something without a good reason.

“Well, the first thing you need to do is to tell me why you’re crying.”

...Was he actually crying?

Leslie touched his face, and she was right.

He didn’t know if he could just _tell_ her that.

He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that she began to shift, and before he knew it, there was a warm, soft weight on his legs, and there was something so _soothing_ about that feeling—the scent of her.

“Corneo took my fiancée, six months ago. But I guess she didn’t have to go—he always picks from three—and I never saw her again.” He barely breathed the words. “I can only assume she’s dead.” Those were a little louder, and a little faster, now that he’d started. “I don’t know what’s worse—the idea that she’s dead, or that she decided I wasn’t worth turning Corneo down—we could’ve run—I would’ve taken her, I would’ve protected her—” The words were almost angry, and he was _definitely_ crying, now. “And then this pretty-boy just shows up, puts on a dress, and gets in—I didn’t have to do _shit_ to get close to Corneo. Andrea would have helped me if I asked—and all those girls I let through—and Sector 7—”

“Leslie,” (Name)’s voice said, insistently. “It’s okay. You can make up for it,” she soothed. Now was _not_ the time to panic, but he _did_ need to let it out—and begin to move forward. He couldn’t dwell in this, not _now,_ not when he wanted to go after Corneo.

She understood, though. Leslie _was_ a good heart. He didn’t like what he’d done. He didn’t like that he’d not thought of a completely unusual solution to his problem, and he was clearly feeling horribly guilty about Sector 7—even though he’d not known _anything_ about it.

“I can’t bring people back from the dead,” he spat.

“You can kill Corneo, tear down his empire, and give all those riches to those who need it. You can make sure no one else has to feel the way you do.”

Leslie laid there for several long moments—swallowing down the pain and self-hatred and regret—before he let out a long breath. “Killing Corneo sounds like a good start,” he agreed, but he’d never tell her the rest of his feelings on the matter.

(Name) waited, and when he sat up, she jumped from his legs, and returned to her human form. “Also, you might like to know that you probably saved several lives last night,” she said. “I went to Sector 7. Found the guy Corneo was told to hunt down—he smelled like metal and gunpowder and Mako—told them what was going on. They started working on an evacuation over there, before I ever got to your door. He didn’t believe me, at first, but I told him—if it was a lie, the worst that would happen was some inconvenience. If it wasn’t, he was going to save lives, getting people moving _then.”_

Leslie’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening.

“So if you hadn’t shot me—if I hadn’t been bleeding out and had to back down—I might not have had the sense to go and warn them.”

A tiny fraction of the weight on his chest lifted. But he was still frowning, “But if you weren’t _you,_ some other girl might have— _I almost killed you.”_

“Leslie,” she said, and her voice was decidedly firmer, now. “You can’t change the past. The only thing you can do is right here, right now. The best thing that we can do, _right now,_ is to take down Corneo. Are we doing that, or are you going to let your guilt stop you?”

Leslie stopped, and he looked at those strange, golden eyes of hers—now glowing with Mako again. “I suppose—I suppose we should get going,” he muttered.

“We’re getting you a weapon on the way—and if you want to go in alone, I’ll back you, but I expect you to take the kill shot, interrogation or not.” She got to her feet, now, and she grabbed the bag he’d brought along—she situated the weapons on her legs once more, and then checked her Materia. “Come on, kitten.”

Leslie hesitated, but he got to his feet—he pointed to his kitchen and told her to get some food, that he was going to dress and prepare himself.

She prepared enough food for the both of them—simple, quick food that they could take down quickly, and Leslie thanked her, despite the churning in his gut. “You’re bruised,” he said, after they’d finished eating.

“I did get shot,” she reminded him, but her tone was teasing.

She could swear he blushed a little bit. “Sorry.”

“I’ve had worse,” she said, with ease, and they were trailing through the backstreets, headed for the weapon shop. “What kind of weapon do you think you’ll use?”

He hesitated, surprised at how smoothly she managed to move, despite being in her human form. “Not sure,” he admitted. “I haven’t tried my hand at anything—Sector 6 isn’t exactly swimming in monsters.” He could smell the dust and debris in the air from the plate drop, and it made him nauseated all over again.

“Mm.” She paused, and lifted her head, sniffing, before she stuck her head through the end of the alley they’d gone through. “Come along. If I remember right, the weapons shop is right there,” she murmured.

Leslie obeyed her, and inside, (Name) took the lead—she bought him a bracer with Materia slots, and then told the vendor she was looking for a close-range, one-handed weapon.

He eyed Leslie, and in this, at least, Leslie had his typical demeanor. He kept his voice flat, knowing Corneo had plenty of ears—and not even Leslie knew all of them. “Had an intruder last night,” he said, evenly. “Thought I might need to be prepared.”

The man looked nervous, almost even scared. “Heard there was a scuffle. They came in and told me to report to you or—”

(Name) shifted her weight. “Leslie’s a little...token,” she said, and she narrowed her eyes. She grabbed the back of his jacket, drawing her blade, pressing the thing, visibly, against his chest. “I’ve got business with Corneo, and Leslie almost killed me last night. But he’s pretty, so I’m keeping him around—for now, anyway.”

Leslie couldn’t quite prevent himself from stiffening—despite knowing she was doing it for show, he had _seen_ her fight. If things like Sam’s robots and the Hell House had barely affected her, he knew that sword of hers could go through him with next to no effort.

“I won’t say a word,” the vendor said. “Just—don’t hurt the kid,” he whispered.

“As I need him to get me in, I didn’t intend to do so yet.” She leveled her eyes at the man, and slowly put the sword away. “Now. Show me the weapons I was asking about.”

He was visibly skittish, but he obeyed her.

“Pick one, kid. You owe me for the bruises.”

Leslie waited until she let go of his jacket before he stepped forward, glancing over the display.

There weren’t many weapons—and the more brutal-looking ones made him flinch.

He didn’t want a bludgeoning weapon—he’d done enough ills, and he didn’t much think he wanted to torture anyone.

Maybe Corneo.

He chose a broad dagger he could use to better defense than his gun—it wouldn’t be perfect, but he suspected (Name) would be okay with his choice.

Indeed, she dropped money on the counter. “For your trouble.”

“Come along. Relax.” She followed him out, and Leslie glanced at her over his shoulder.

(Name) told him she was going to take her panther form, so as not to be recognized—she pulled him aside and taught him the most basic moves for defense and attack, and then gave him three Materia—all the blade would hold, for that moment. She gave him a Healing, a Fire, and Steadfast Block—the best for his foray against a human piece of shit, she said. She had gotten him a three-slot bracer, and for that one, she gave him an HP, MP, and Magic-up—to make him survive longer.

So when she shifted in to her panther form, and started to pad away, Leslie called to her.

She hesitated, but approached him, sitting back on her haunches.

Leslie ducked down, kneeling, and then reached for her.

(Name) couldn’t help it—she nudged against his hand, nuzzling up in to the hand he stroked through her fur. “You’re gentle,” she whispered, through the muzzle of the cat.

Leslie’s hand froze, but then, he scratched behind her ear. “Take care of yourself. I don’t want to see any more of those bruises on you.”

(Name) froze, but then, after a moment of hesitation, she got to her feet, nudging her head against his jaw, and then she padded a few feet away—at which point she jumped on to a low roof, and carefully made her way to a prime place to listen in on the goings-on of the inside of the mansion.

Leslie took a deep breath, grabbed his knife, feeling the power in his new weapon, and then felt for his gun.

(Name) had given him duplicates of her Materia—she carried maxed-out spares, for emergencies, and she told him it wouldn’t take her long to restore her stock.

He didn’t doubt it, considering what he knew of her.

When Leslie walked in, however, the place was in chaos—no one guarding the door, despite the fact that most of the lackeys had been called upon to guard the palace the night before.

He could smell blood.

As much as he was loath to not be able to take out the don himself, he wondered if this might be for the best.

He _was_ soft, even if he didn’t want to admit it to (Name).

He drew his gun and released the safety, taking a deep breath, creeping through the place—poking his head in every door, stealthy as possible.

Part of why Leslie didn’t wear armor—he liked the ability to surprise people who were doing things they absolutely _should not_ be.

When he finally found Corneo, the bastard was hidden well—but armed to the teeth. “Leslie! What the fuck are you doing so late!?”

Corneo might have been shaking, if he hadn’t been so gelatinous as to jiggle in _general._ Corneo, after all, took all the luxury he could get—he was greedy to the max, and had no issue with taking more than his fill while the less fortunate struggled to even _survive._

(Name)’s words weren’t the first time he thought about taking Corneo’s disgusting wealth and giving it to those less fortunate—but her suggestion reminded him that it was a good idea.

Luckily, Leslie had already been thinking about how to explain his tardiness to Corneo—in addition to the blow (Name) had dealt, and the soreness that came with, and his oversleeping, he did have a _legitimate_ excuse. He drew the dagger slightly, though a part of him thought he should hide it. “I stopped to get a close-range weapon, and some Materia,” he said. “I had nothing to use on the girl last night—and I thought it might be prudent to be able to heal you, if necessary.”

Corneo scowled at him, but the sneaky bastard did have some cunning—so of course he would think well of Leslie wanting to be better prepared. “You could’ve been quicker about it,” he spat, instead.

He wasn’t exactly against being critical—especially seeing as he seemed to be in some kind of distress. “Better for me to be prepared, isn’t it, sir?”

Leslie could feel the cat simmering near the surface—pushing him to be a little too sassy, a little too _quick._ His time with (Name) had called that part of him to the surface, and it was a feeling he didn’t expect.

It was something like…

Something like _coming home._

He’d tried to crush the inhuman part of him, to fit in, and yet, seeing (Name)...

He hadn’t known how much he missed that part of himself. He had forgotten how it filled in some of those empty hollows that had opened up in the forest, when he lost pieces of himself there.

He had forgotten how natural it felt, to react to sights and smells before a human _could,_ to be able to register and react with instinct so natural that it didn’t occur to him to pause.

When she’d wakened him that morning, when he _registered_ it, the cat in him had drawn the gun, released the safety, and had it under her chin before the human had even _thought_ to defend itself.

And only when the human had caught up and looked at her had the cat been calmed enough to drop the gun, and let her move.

It was, very likely, only the fact that she had drawn away and stopped moving that he hadn’t put a bullet through her brain at that moment.

And as scary as that was, it was also...reassuring.

“If you’re going to guard me, you can escort me to the sewers,” Corneo sneered, slowly scooting out of the tiny space he’d somehow squeezed in to. “Soldiers showed up—that little bitch must have run to Sector 7—I sent the best after her—Heidegger is after me.”

Leslie panicked for a long moment—should he actually do it, or just stab Corneo the minute his back was turned? He doubted Corneo remembered his fiancée, so questioning him might not get him anywhere…

But then, if Corneo retaliated, if there was _any_ sort of trap waiting for Leslie, there was no guarantee he could get out, survive the sewers, and make it back. He didn’t know how (Name) could discreetly follow them down there.

And he was afraid to put her in the kind of danger Corneo could _absolutely_ pose when he wanted—and he could see at least two guns on the man, already. Corneo would not even pause if he saw her again—and likely, he wouldn’t think twice about killing a panther.

As much as his self-hatred told him that he didn’t care if he died, he didn’t want (Name) to get in trouble if she was trying to help him.

“You got everything you want to take with you?”

He hated himself for bending like this. Hated himself for just _letting_ Corneo get his way again.

Leslie should just put a bullet through his brain, here and now.

Corneo grabbed a few things—mostly non-essentials, intending to entertain himself, clearly—but while he did that, Leslie had to set up the ladder down to the sewer.

Had this room always stunk so much? He made a mental note to ask (Name) why she hadn’t warned the others after she smelled the sewer below them.

He went down before Corneo—checking his knife, first, and felt a shiver of fear.

He wasn’t exactly practiced with the monsters of the sewer. They were tough—and toxic. Maybe he should’ve asked (Name) for support.

But at least they didn’t have to go far—Corneo unlocked a door and skittered inside, and Leslie was obligated to follow.

Corneo then ranted at him for a long while—complaining, whining like the little bitch he really was—and then ordered him to find the girl—and, if they’d somehow survived, the “bastards” that had interrogated him the night before.

Leslie agreed, wondering how on earth he was supposed to find the others—but he knew he wouldn’t turn (Name) over to the bastard.

He found (Name) waiting for him in the wide arena the trap door opened on, her arms folded. “You good, kitten?”

“I didn’t kill him,” he whispered.

“I know,” she soothed. “I’d smell the blood.” But she stepped toward him, running her thumb along his cheek. “You’re hurt. Hold still,” she murmured. She grabbed her blade with her other hand, and Leslie felt the spell—her hand cooled, and he felt the enormous difference in the power of their spells. Even his chest stopped aching, and he _felt_ his wounds sealing up, little cuts disappearing, and his bruises and nausea from the toxins faded. “How’s that? Do I need to lay a Regen on top?”

Leslie was beginning to register how much _warmer_ she was toward him, how she’d opened up, how she was looking after him.

A part of him resented how much he privately liked it—he knew he didn’t deserve it.

“I’m good. You’ve got more magic than me,” he said, swallowing the thought of her affection down.

She watched him, and she lifted her head. “You took some poison hits,” she murmured, and she paused, kneeling—she pulled a golden chain out of her boot, unhooking the thing, and Leslie saw it had a star on it. “You’re gonna need some training, kitten,” she murmured. “Take your boot off. This’ll make you immune to poison.”

Leslie hesitated, this time, seeming uncomfortable, and she grinned at him. “I’d make it your collar as a cat, but it’d choke you when you changed back.”

Leslie might have pouted at her, if he was a different person.

So he bent, loosening his boot, and then stepped on it with his other foot—and she hooked the chain around his ankle.

Leslie arranged the item inside his boot—there was a tiny, golden sparkle at the tongue, but he wasn’t going to pinch it to his skin within his sock. He saw her fit a circlet to her head, instead. “You expecting this to take a while?”

“You haven’t killed him—or _let_ someone else kill him—for six months. You’re either too soft to do it, or you’re afraid to get your answers—even if you don’t know that consciously.” She shifted her weight. “But I promised to help, so I’m here.”

Leslie flinched, and she _saw_ him shut down, drawing back, looking away.

“I’m not trying to be mean—but you’ve got a short time limit if Shinra is the one after him. I’ve met Turks and dispatched the ones I had to, but they’re relentless, and most of them are as cold as I am when they’re on the hunt. If they’re the ones after Corneo, he’s as good as dead. If you want to act, it should be now.”

Leslie didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think at all, in fact, so he turned toward the ladder that led back up to the mansion. “You’ve dealt with Turks?”

“Shinra has a scientist—Hojo. He’ll experiment on anyone and anything—in any way. Turks scout for...persons of interest. Some lower-ranked ones have spotted me—tried to take me in. Called in a report on my special kind of _weirdness._ I killed them before they could give away too much—they know I can transform, but they don’t know about the Mako. I suspect they know how strong I am, having killed some of their own, but I keep my secrets.” She followed him up the ladder, not bothering to say more—she’d made her point, after all. “They’ve got another interest in Sector 5, so it’s the easiest place to hide—I’m not as interesting.”

“You mean, they don’t _know_ how interesting you are,” he muttered.

“They’d have sent every Turk and SOLDIER they could rally, if they knew the truth.” She waited for him to get to his feet in the disgusting room that was still trashed from her attack on Corneo, and got up with little effort. “Although, if Reno got the opportunity, he’d probably try to fuck me before they took me in.”

Leslie barely stumbled.

“He’d do it for his own pleasure, of course, but he’d also try to take me off-guard. He thinks I’m stupid—though that’s a conscious effort on my part. Rude doesn’t buy it as much, but he’s the cautious one.”

Leslie started riffling through the desk—an opportunity he’d never had, but he _knew_ what was in there, which was an assortment of the endorsements from the Trio. Corneo kept them just in case he wanted to call any of the girls back—granted that they got out, that is.

“Would you do it? He’d probably be easier to kill,” Leslie speculated.

“I’ve had my share of less-than-satisfying one-night-stands, kitten. I’m not very good at feigning interest, and Reno doesn’t interest me.” She stepped to the side, scowling. “I’m all for a good fuck—nothing wrong with it, as long as it’s consensual—but I know Reno’s type. All dirty talk, probably stupidly loud and over-enthusiastic.” She scoffed, and Leslie saw her roll her eyes from behind his hair. “He might actually give good dick, but the minute he started telling me to ‘take it’ or some other bullshit, I’d probably have to castrate him.”

Leslie was torn between horrified and amused.

In fact, he let out a half-laugh, and couldn’t help looking at her, “You’ve thought about it?”

“Don’t need to,” she replied, with an easy shrug. “If you’d ever heard the man talk, you’d know why. He’s a mouthy little bitch who’d flirt with a Hedgehog Pie if he couldn’t get a human,” she said, simply. “I’m surprised the Turks haven’t neutered him, but I suspect he turns it in to fighting when he has to,” she offered.

Leslie was...surprised.

Not just by how frank she was, but by how _open_ she was being.

She hadn’t held back with him at all, not now that she was alone with him—her outer shell hadn’t just shattered, it was _gone,_ blown away like it hadn’t existed.

“And you know this, how…?”

“That’s a matter I can’t explain,” she said, very softly. “It’s a secret I’ve promised to keep. Although I trust you, I know better than to speak of this. It could lead all parties to trouble, you included,” she explained.

So much for open.

But then...she’d told him she _couldn’t_ talk about it, so...that was something. She hadn’t shut down.

But then, she pushed off the wall, reached for him, and tugged hard—it hurt—but she pressed him to one of the barriers in the room, drawing her swords.

Leslie pulled his gun.

Metal sparked when Cloud’s enormous sword clashed with (Name)’s blades, and Leslie dropped his gun before (Name) did her swords. “Long time no see,” he said.

“You!” A giant of a man stepped out, reaching for (Name), and she found herself pushed back by Leslie’s arm.

“It’s okay,” (Name) said. “He won’t hurt me.”

“I didn’t get your name,” he said, and Cloud was watching him, confused. “You saved—you saved so many lives—you were _bleeding_ —I thought for sure you were dead when you disappeared.”

“(Name),” she said, with another of those easy shrugs. “It was a couple of bullets. I thought the sector was more important.” She sheathed her swords. “I’ve lived through worse.”

“Barret,” he said, and he didn’t look like he fully believed her. “Your arm—it looked like you had lost all the blood in it—”

“Leslie shot me, twice. One in the arm, one in the leg,” she said, bluntly. “He didn’t mean to hit me—he patched me up when I got back.” She had shifted her weight slightly, standing a little ways in front of Leslie. “It was for the best that he shot me, honestly.”

Barret’s eyes still zeroed in on him, but Leslie decided he needed to get this over with. “What brings you back here?”

He was looking at Cloud, who looked rather skeptical about (Name)’s declaration.

Tifa, however, was the one to step forward—she laid a gentle hand on Cloud’s arm. “Well, we need to find a way to get topside as quickly as possible, and we figured Corneo oughta know one,” she said.

“You’re rather trusting, aren’t you?” It was (Name)’s voice, and Leslie heard how she’d shut down again—her voice was flatter, and when he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, he noted that, indeed, that wall was back up.

...Did she trust him that much?

“You helped us out,” Tifa said, as though it was just as simple as that. “Cloud and Aerith said you were okay.”

Leslie put his gun away at that, and he glanced at (Name), and then back at Cloud. “I can help,” he said, making up his mind.

(Name) reached out and touched his arm, shaking her head, once—she met his eyes, and this time, it was (Name) who backed down.

Cloud was surprised that he could tell without words.

Barret missed the exchange, “You serious? Tell us!”

Leslie looked at (Name) and she rolled her eyes. “You’re sweet—but this is very unnecessary.”

He suspected she knew a lot more than he’d outright told her.

So he ignored her, nodding toward the back room, “Follow me.”

Though (Name) followed him right away, the other three hesitated, before Cloud sighed. “Let’s just hear him out.”

Barret, of course, was the only person there who hadn’t been in the room on that night, and saw Leslie double-checking the ladder. “So...what’s the deal with the hole?”

“It’s a trap for Corneo’s enemies, because he’s a slimy bastard,” (Name) said, shortly. “Your friends got dropped down it last night.”

Barret scowled, and Leslie spoke. “I’ve got unfinished business with Corneo. If you three give me a hand with it, I’ll give you what you need to get topside.”

Tifa was, rightfully, hesitant. “You want us to go back in to the sewers with you?” She hesitated, “Corneo’s down there?”

“In his hidey-hole,” Leslie said, scowling, and he waved an envelope (Name) hadn’t seen him grab. “I’ve got some questions for him.”

“You’re not going to try to screw us over, are you?” Barret was, perhaps, rightfully suspicious.

“You trust (Name)? She’s in it, too.” He paused, and this time, he looked at her for a good moment. “I don’t want her in trouble. I figure a little extra help wouldn’t hurt.” He looked at Barret, frowning. “If you don’t want to help, you can find another way topside.”

“I’m more than enough, you know,” (Name) said, flatly. “I could kill him without breaking a sweat.”

“We’re in,” Cloud interrupted.

“Say what!?” That was Barret’s incredulous exclamation.

“He betrays us, he dies,” Cloud said, and he turned his eyes on (Name). “You warned Barret about the Plate. We owe you that one.”

(Name) bristled, and the Mako in her eyes flashed. “You owe him for shooting me, or I would’ve been incapable of delivering the message.”

Cloud could read that threat for what it was—her body language had changed to the defensive, and she’d shifted her weight.

But Leslie held his arm out. “Fine by me. I’m a man of my word.”

“He means it,” Tifa warned.

Leslie shrugged that off, circling back to the ladder. “I’ll tell you more after we’ve climbed down.”

(Name) followed Leslie down, scowling the whole way. “You planning a suicide mission, kitten?”

“I don’t want you getting hurt,” he said, very softly. “I know Cloud can handle himself—I refuse to let you do all the work.”

Cloud came down a moment later, and then Tifa, and last was Barret, who was leering menacingly at Leslie. “You _are_ gonna hold up your end of the bargain, right?”

“Long as you hold up yours—yeah.”

(Name) groaned.

“I don’t trust you, and I don’t like you.” Barret approached him, lifting the gun that was his arm, pointing it right at Leslie. “So if you so much as breathe in a suspicious way…” He held his arm steady, leaning in, “I’ll turn that face of yours into a honeycomb.”

Leslie started to shrug, but (Name) stepped in front of him, both hands on her swords, and her eyes turned almost _completely_ Mako green. “You lay a hand on him, and you won’t need to worry about Shinra trying to finish the job—I’ll lay your corpse at the building entrance.”

“Barret,” Tifa said, grabbing him. “Don’t.”

“She’d do it,” Cloud said, from behind them. “She could—she could have taken Reno and Rude on her own.”

(Name) didn’t take her eyes off the giant of a man, but she lifted her chin. “Put the gun down. We get this over with, you never have to see us again.”

Leslie put his hand on her shoulder, and then paused, before he leaned in, pressing his nose to the back of her head—it was something close to a soft head-butt.

(Name) let out a breath, and she dropped her hands. “Okay, kitten,” she murmured.

“You three can clear the way ahead—”

“You need practice—I’m not letting Corneo take a shot at you, and I need a warmup,” (Name) said, waving her hand. “Also not a bad idea to know what we’re working with.”

Leslie froze, and then let out a sigh. “Fine.”

(Name) led the way—Cloud told her to follow the path, and when the first Sahagin attacked, (Name) sliced through it with less than no effort—Barret did get a few shots off, but the creature was dead long before it even hit the ground.

“Where’d you learn to fight?”

Barret might have sounded impressed.

“Don’t remember. Hard to survive without weapons. I traveled—world out there has worse monsters than these.”

Her voice was clipped—Leslie knew it was something attached to her childhood—or lack thereof.

Barret took the hint.

The next fight, she let Leslie go first—teaching him through their unusual way, so she wasn’t shouting over the sounds of Barret’s gun.

He certainly didn’t have half the finesse she did, but Leslie was a fast learner—he corrected his moves as she spoke, starting to find the blade more comfortable in his hand.

The crabs, however, (Name) cast magic on—she relied a lot on speed as much as strength, and she had patience when she needed it—but she was also intelligent and strategic and knew where her strengths were.

Leslie wasn’t used to combat the way she was—indeed, in a moment where Leslie stepped back to take a breath, he could _see_ the cat in the way that she moved, he could see her instinct, her reactions, the very way she _breathed_ as she fought. There was something so _animal_ about her.

He couldn’t stop himself from thinking that she was, without doubt, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

When she put her swords away, she met his eyes, and she grinned—she didn’t tease him or bring up what he’d told her, she just grinned, and then nodded—and thanked him, clearly knowing what he was thinking.

Leslie blushed, until the next fight came, and that was a good distraction.

The plate fall had turned a lot of the sewer into rubble—paths were blocked off, and lights flickered, and Leslie led them through newly-unlocked gates, and even more monsters.

By the time Leslie stopped, he had taken several more hits, and (Name) cast a Curaga with Magnify, and they rested on the bench—just to take a moment.

But of course, nothing ever went the way it was intended—Leslie got knocked down and the tiny, fast bastard ran off.

“No! Get back here!”

“What—”

“Does it matter?”

(Name) had already run off after the creature—she actually sliced through several enemies on her way, but a handful of them got back up and Cloud and the others took them down as they chased after her.

It became obvious, however, that the little beast was out to torment them—and as soon as (Name) caught up to his game, she blasted through the room of enemies—all weak to fire—and then sheathed her swords.

Leslie and the others turned the corner just in time to see her silkily shift to her panther form—and then she was running at top speed, disappearing around the next corner, bounding over and slinking under obstacles with a fluidity that water would find familiar.

“What—”

“Did she just…”

Both Barret and Tifa stopped in their tracks—dumbfounded, and looking particularly overwhelmed.

The room was full of dead creatures and (Name) had just shrunk down into the shape of a sleek panther and _disappeared._

Only Cloud and Leslie had known about that part of her—after all, Aerith wasn’t present.

“Just hurry! She’ll catch up and trap it.”

Leslie knew—she’d raced ahead in a flurry of activity—and it was the _smart_ thing to do.

(Name) was anything but dumb.

Leslie was tempted to take his _own_ cat form, but he just bit the bullet and ran after her in his human form, pulling his gun—he _wasn’t_ a bad shot, despite hitting her the night before.

Cloud outpaced him, as did Tifa—but Barret was the one pulling up the rear, just with his sheer size.

When Leslie caught up, the panther was growling at the Shoat, and both Tifa and Cloud had prepared for battle—they had the beast surrounded.

Leslie came to (Name)’s side, holding the gun—but the creature was now covered in claw marks, and definitely bleeding. “Drop it.”

The creature whimpered at them, and then lashed out.

(Name) tackled him, teeth and claws bared, ripping and tearing as she went, and then she reverted to her human form, blasting him with Firaga, and cutting through him in a whirl of blades, and the beast collapsed, leaving the pouch it had stolen from Leslie lying on the ground.

Cloud handed the pouch to Leslie, and he held it too tightly.

(Name) wiped at a long cut on her cheek, smearing a streak of blood over her skin—she scowled slightly at the way it burned, and then sheathed her swords. “You good?”

Leslie snapped out of it, looking at her, and he glanced at the pouch, and then shoved it in his pocket, before he grabbed his dagger with one hand, reaching for her.

The wound was bleeding, and swelling in to a red, angry welt—he laid his hand on her cheek, focusing on the Healing Materia—he saw the Mako in her eyes brighten, and watched her skin knit back to its natural shape—though she still had a bruise under her eye. “Shouldn’t I be asking you?”

“I’ve had worse, kitten,” she murmured, but she still leaned in to his touch, just a little. “Thanks.”

“What’s the deal with the pouch, kid?”

Leslie froze, and then took a deep breath. “It’s a necklace,” he said, quietly. “My fiancée. Six months ago, Corneo picked her as a bride.” He paused, squeezing the pouch against his hip. “She disappeared the next day, but before she went to the audition, she gave it back.” He squeezed the hilt of his dagger, staring at the floor. “Salt on the wound,” he spat, and then he rolled his shoulders, taking a breath. “I want answers, and Corneo’s the only one who might have them.”

Barret was quiet. “Six months?”

“I know I need to move on, but I just...can’t let go.” Leslie whispered the words, and then shook his head.

“I...kind of thought you two were—” Tifa trailed off, darting her eyes between Leslie and (Name). “I thought you were with her.”

“He’s just a soft heart,” (Name) said, plainly. “He’s got some guilt weighing on him—including the fact that he shot me.” She shifted her weight, folding her arms over her chest. “I promised to help him get his answers.”

Leslie felt almost worse for that answer, and more than that, the necklace felt too heavy in his pocket. “We met last night—when I met Cloud.”

(Name) snickered quietly. “Come on. I should’ve brought pliers—I’d rip his teeth out one by one, if necessary.”

“He needs to be able to talk,” Leslie said, but it didn’t horrify him as much as it probably should’ve.

Probably because Corneo was a living, breathing, walking, talking sack of shit.

So he took them back around the long way—through a ventilation space that was almost too small for Barret—and Leslie told them he wanted to go in alone.

“Don’t be an idiot, kitten.”

Leslie might have pouted and blushed, just a little.

(Name) shifted down in to her panther form—and Barret asked if he was hallucinating from the fumes.

She let out a laugh through the muzzle of the cat, and bared her teeth. “You’d be better off thinking so,” she said.

(Name) followed Leslie through the door, telling the others to rest—and they could observe, in the unlikely event that (Name) was not enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a little bit more about Leslie’s fiancée, and my own doubts about their relationship.
> 
> I did alter the timeline a little—I know that the plate drop seems to happen at night, after which Cloud and the others head to Aerith’s house, and they go back to Sector 7 after Marlene is safe...
> 
> But it all seems kind of...weirdly paced? There’s _so much_ filler in this game that it’s hard to track the _actual_ timeline. Because it’s like...they get to Wall Market and rescue Tifa, get dropped to the sewers, go through the Train Graveyard, fight up the pillar, handle the plate drop, check on Marlene, AND escape the underground lab...all in one night? Plus the scene with Aerith/Tifa/Barret when they decide to bunk down for the rest of the night?
> 
> Is that right? Because that seems like _way too much_ to happen in one night, but...?
> 
> So this is sort of rearranged a little—the plate drop happens a little closer to dawn, because (Name) got the warning out, so they delayed things a little better.
> 
> So the morning (the weapon shop, then Corneo’s mansion, then the moments in the sewers), that happens while Cloud and the others are in the lab, and then the “scene” with whichever character you want to picture. Then, they head straight for the mansion, because side quests can wait (literally, it’s just for leveling at that point in the game, and we can pretend it happens later if you so choose), and you’ll see why in the next chapter.
> 
> If it makes no sense, I apologize, but I did the best I could with the filler-tactic game that disregards how many hours are in a night. (That, or I’m dumb and misremembering, at which point, feel free to scold me.
> 
> Plus, my opinion on Reno (I really do see him as a little sex-crazed, but that might be fueled a bit by the fandom. Just a tiny bit.) and an opportunity for the subject to come up between Leslie and (Name).
> 
> I did, also, change the way the chase goes—I think it’s dumb that Cloud just randomly picks up the thing instead of letting Leslie grab it—he doesn’t have a reason to grab the “key” out of the pouch. They’re not near the door.
> 
> It just bothered me, so (Name) brushes off the matter and just recovers the item.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
